


the whole world, it is sleeping (but my world is you)

by thispieceofmind



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blind Character, Blind!Harry, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Smut, au but not au, basically it's the harry/louis story as we know it except harry is blind you see, just a tad, which changes things, x factor era, x factor fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:56:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thispieceofmind/pseuds/thispieceofmind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Louis knows who this boy is. He saw him at the audition, on the chair in line getting interviewed. He’s called Harry, and he's got the most brilliant voice and the biggest sob story that Louis has ever heard, and what Louis knows is that he doesn't want it to be a sob story at all. His eyes are a wide, glossy sea glass green, and he can’t see a thing."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Louis never really knew commitment, never really knew love, until Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the whole world, it is sleeping (but my world is you)

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyy everyone! This right here is my child so I hope you do like it! I've been working on it just a bit under two months and I'm kind of emotionally attached. Please please please let me know what you think, and I really hope you enjoy it. Blind!Harry is kind of a weakness of mine. Thank you so much for reading, and also to my awesome beta Emily who I want to shower in love and adoration.

Before now, there has only been so many moments in Louis’ life that have been so defining. He could think of a few; taking a bow after the opening night of Grease, with all those proud, impressed, and genuine smiles looking up at him, the applause. Or when he came out to his mum. Even auditioning and getting all yeses. Those were moments forever engraved in Louis' mind. But this; this is something else entirely. He can’t breathe with the intensity of it because it truly is one thing after the next. One second he's being kicked out, told that he’s not fit enough for the show and unable to continue on with this petty little dream he has – that he’s not good enough. Then, not minutes later he’s being dragged back for a goddamn interview about how fucking awful it feels to have your dreams be shattered in an instant only to find out that he has an opportunity of a lifetime. 

And there’s this boy, with the brightest smile and truest eyes Louis has ever seen, and he’s gripping his hand like it’s all he'll ever get to feel and reeling him into the surest, proudest, most passionate hug Louis is certain he’ll ever experience. There’s some all around “absolutely yes”s and the initial shock, and Louis knows who this boy is. He saw him at the audition, on the chair in line getting interviewed. He’s called Harry, and he's got the most brilliant voice and the biggest sob story that Louis has ever heard, and what Louis knows is that he doesn't want it to be a sob story at all. 

His eyes are a wide, glossy sea glass green, and he can’t see a thing. Louis remembers him saying “I’m blind,” during that interview, and Louis remembers the shock on everyone's faces around him, and he remembers picturing the people's at home. He remembers Harry's little chuckle straight afterward, and thinking,  _why are you laughing?_  and _I want to get to know you._

And so be it, he guesses, because then Harry quietly asks in his ear if he can help him offstage with the prettiest, giddiest smile on his face, so Louis takes his arm and together they stride, pouncing right into an interview with the other boys at their side, Louis having the strangest type of anticipation in his stomach.

They get to know each other. All of them, that is. They take friendship by storm, because Harry quietly mentions a bungalow that his stepdad owns, and Louis immediately booms how brilliant of an idea it is. So that's where they go, to get to know each other. 

***

It's warm, the bungalow. It has a comfortable air to it; rustic and homey and feeling very much like Harry. Louis falls in love with it from the moment he steps in because he knows that with a place like this there will be unforgettable moments, for sure. Because the five of them, they've all just been launched into the biggest field of unpredictability and mystery possible. And Louis is quite all right with it. He likes new things. He likes keeping things fresh and ever-changing, so these strangers that he's just been bound to and this adventure he's about to go on is going to be the time of his life.

When Harry opens the door to the house, (after minutes and minutes of telling Anne that,   _yes, i'll be fin_ _e._   _The boys are here. I have everything I need, mum._  to which Louis smiles at amusedly) Louis presses a hand on the small of his back and murmurs, "I'm so excited. This place is wicked! Do you know when Niall, Liam, and Zayn are arriving? Where are we sleeping? Do you need help with anything?" It's only after he's spoken that he realizes that that is way too many questions at once, but. No going back now.

Harry laughs lightly, and he reaches out with his cane to make sure that nothing is in his way. He takes a few hesitant steps forward, but Louis registers right away that this isn't his house and that he mustn't know it as well. 

"Do you need me to show you somewhere? 'Cause I can, if you need me to," Louis offers. 

"Can you take me down the stairs, just to the left? I'm not so much a fan of them, because I can't always tell when they're there or when they end. I live in a ranch house back home, so it's not something I usually have to worry about."

Louis hesitantly reaches out to touch Harry's waist. "Yeah, yeah of course. Where are we headed?"

Harry laughs warmly, and steps forward when he feels Louis move down the hardwood floor. “You ask a lot of questions. We're going into the living room, which is where we can sleep. I mean, there's rooms too, but not enough for everyone, and I thought it would be more fun to have everyone together?”

"Smart," Louis hums, and he finds the stairs. "There's three, okay? First one now." Louis steps down, and keeps his hand on the small of his back. "You good for the rest?"

Harry nods, and whispers, "Thanks," once they're all the way down. Before Louis even gets a chance to say you're welcome, Harry is talking again. "Zayn and Liam should be here within a half hour, and Niall is gonna be a bit later as he's got to fly in and take a cab up. But. This is it, then." The living room has two couches, a big telly, and five blow up mattresses with a whole heap of fuzzy blankets and duvets. It looks perfect, and Harry murmurs softly, "Mum set it up before. Does it seem all right?"

"Absolutely fab, Harry. Thanks so much for inviting us."

"It just seemed like the right kind of place," Harry says, and Louis couldn't agree more.

***

It's a lot of eating and farting and laughing, and Louis thinks it might take a few rounds of Never Have I Ever to get to know each other's deep, dark secrets. On the first night, once they've all settled in and played more than enough video games and drank more than enough of the shitty wine coolers in the fridge, Louis suggests it. Harry flushes even pinker at the idea (apparently alcohol tinges his cheeks; Louis likes it) but Niall hoots loudly and Zayn smirks and Liam smiles the biggest Louis's seen all night. "Good. Everyone's in. I guess by teenage standards before we begin I must apply the official rules, a.k.a. no judgements in this room, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, blah blah blah and all that bullshit. Agreed?" There's a collective nod. "Okay then. I'll start?" It's not even that much of a question. He curls further into his bundle of blankets that he and Harry are cocooned in, and he throws an arm over Harry's shoulder. 

"Never have I ever..." Louis starts, thinking carefully, "broken the law," he pauses for effect, "and gotten caught."

No one puts a finger up. 

"Wow," Louis sighs. "Not a single one of you. I am genuinely appalled." Niall chortles, and Harry laughs into his shoulder. 

"Moving on. Zayn?"

"Never have I ever thrown up from drinking too much."

"Zayn!" Louis shouts. "Extremely disappointed. These are supposed to be accomplishments." He raises his index finger dramatically. He glances around the circle to see that Niall has joined him. Zayn scowls in his direction, but it's playful. 

Then Louis feels a hand fisting in his pajama pants, and Harry is whispering into his ear, “Lou.”

"What's up, Harry?"

"Can you– erm. Can you tell me who puts a finger up, cause like. Y'know. I can't see?" Harry hangs his head a bit, and Louis can tell he's still blushing, so he smooths his hair back.

"Of course. No one for my one, and then just now it was only me and Niall. Don't be afraid to ask for anything, Harry. Ever."

Harry nods. "Okay."

Louis can't help but wonder why he seems so uncomfortable. He has a lot to learn, it seems. 

"Never have I ever, um, had sex," Liam stammers out next. He's just as (if not more) red as Harry. 

Louis holds back laughter, because Liam is serious, and it's not even that he's a virgin. It's just how awkward he is about it. He raises another finger, and so does Zayn. "Li, mate. Lighten up. We like sex here. Sex is good. Don't be embarrassed about the sex."

"Or lack thereof," Niall adds. Liam laughs, looser already. 

"Remember," Harry speaks up, "judgement-free zone."

Louis nods solemnly in agreement. He tells Harry, "Me and Zayn."

Niall pipes up again. "My turn! Never have I ever sharted."

"Pardon?" Louis asks. 

"Yeah, um. What?" Harry asks. 

Niall shakes his head in disappointment. "Uneducated, you lot. So, like. It's when you go in for a fart, but then you shit instead? Like a combo, y'know? Shart: the most unpredictable of bodily functions." And he says the last sentence so seriously that soon enough all of then are guffawing and laughing into each other, Harry's head lolling back onto Louis' shoulder in laughter. 

"Oh my god, Niall," Harry breathes, panting a bit from laughing so hard. "You're not serious are you?"

"Well it's not happened to me!" Niall retorts. "I just wanted to see if my buddy Sean was alone in this. Shit, that was the biggest laugh of me life. We were like, fourteen and he'd had some spicy shit from Nando's, and we were just hangin' out, y'know, watching football on the telly or something, and then he lets one rip and it's all downhill from there."

And that's all it takes for them to collapse into fits of laughter once again.

It's not until everyone has calmed down to just heavy breaths that Liam says, "Y'know, you friend really isn't alone. It happened to me once." Everyone gapes. "I was like, seven!" Liam exclaims to defend himself. He hides his head in hands. "Oh my god. I can't even think about it. It was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life."

Zayn claps him on the shoulder. "Liam, mate. That is perfect." He lowers his voice. "Don't forget to put a finger up. Embarrassment does not qualify as a freebee."

"Harold?" Louis addresses.

"Yeah, Lou?" 

"Your turn."

"Oh, um." Harry pauses to think, and he chews on his lip. He knows Harry can't see him staring but he wonders if he can feel it. "Never have I ever, erm, kissed a bloke."

"God, I'm gonna lose so bad. Are all of you out to get me or just pussies?"

There's a collective scowl, but Louis raises a finger, and to his surprise, so does Niall and Zayn. He gives them a look. 

"I was drunk," Niall explains, looking at ease.

Zayn shrugs. "I wasn't." And, okay. That's cool.

Louis leans over to Harry's ear. "That's me, Z, and Niall who have." Harry nods. He looks intrigued, but still a little flustered for a reason that Louis is still failing to place. Louis plays with his hair again, and leans in gently again. "Wanna lie down?"

Harry hums in agreement, and he shifts so his head is in Louis' lap. His face is the picture of contentment, eyes closed and face soft. 

"My turn again, innit?" Louis says to no one in particular. "Let's have a think, then. Never have I ever... read in an entire book in one sitting. Boring, I know, but I think my creativity has run dry. Although it is the truth."

He hears Niall snort,"Run dry," and Louis, admittedly, snorts back.

But then everyone in the circle raises a finger, and Louis is not sure whether to be proud or disgusted. "Scholarly, you lot are. Everyone? Jesus."

"Hey, Harry," Zayn says, "does that mean you read Braille?"

And Louis watches as Harry lights right up, face brightening and a smile pulling across his pretty lips. He nods vigorously. "Sure do! S'one of my favorite things in the whole world."

"Mate, that is so wicked," Liam beams. "I don't think I could ever do something like that." 

"Neither do I," Niall agrees. "English can be shite as it is, but Braille is just sick, Harry."

Louis sighs dramatically. "It must be, as it was invented by a guy named Louis."

"Was it really?" Zayn asks, unsure if Louis is just pulling his leg, because he definitely would.

"Louis Braille," Harry confirms. "True fact."

"Well, I agree that Harry reading Braille is sick." Harry flushes when Louis says it. Louis leans into his ear for what has to be the millionth time that day. "You'll make an attempt to teach me one day?"

Harry nods so hard that Louis is afraid that his neck might snap.

The rest of the game essentially ends in Louis’ loss, and a Harry/Liam win. They find out that there is very little Louis hasn't done (to which he sniggers) and that Zayn smokes and makes the occasional piece of art. It's a nice round. Louis still thinks you can never go wrong with NHIE, but when you're with virginal strangers that are now your bandmates and the alcohol has already worn off, the game can lose some of its effect.

Oh well.

It's a start. 

***

The bungalow manages to just bring them closer together, whether it be the late-morning (or rather, early afternoon) breakfasts or the all-night chats where it feels like they learn everything about each other. Louis feels like he's on a roller coaster, when he's with these boys. One second he can be laughing his ass off with no cares in the world, and the next second he can be hearing the sad story of Liam's childhood. It's a good feeling though, he reckons. He likes the surprise, the rush. He can't really imagine what's coming next.

And then there's Harry. Brilliant, talented, bold Harry. His eyes manage to shine whenever he sings, and Louis can't stop staring on the last night that they sit around the bonfire and practice shitty covers with bad harmonies. They sing oldies and hits and probably do  _Wonderwall_  way too many times, but it's one of the happiest and most peaceful times that Louis has ever had. The fire makes Harry's hair go all glossy, and his smile is positively contagious, so Louis sidles up next to him even more, curls under their blanket, and sings his heart out. 

"I'd say we're not half bad, boys," Liam states proudly when it's edging past one in the morning.

"Not half bad!" Niall scoffs. "I'd say we're pretty fuckin' awesome!"

Zayn hoots. "Yeah, yeah. Now that we've agreed, let's go to bed. I'm knackered."

Three of the boys stand, but Louis just shivers as the wind blows and while Harry's warm palm curls further around his wrist. "I'm going to stay a bit longer, lads, if that's all right?"

They just sort of grumble their consent and leave. 

Harry leans into him, and Louis asks quietly once the door is shut, "I can take you in, if you want?" 

Harry shakes his head. "No. You know I can get in from here. Plus, I just wanted to make sure it was okay for me to stay, unless you wanted to be alone or something."

"No, it's all right! I'm just enjoying the fire," Louis murmurs. 

"You sure you want me to stay?" Harry asks dubiously, sitting forward as though he's preparing to stand.

"Yes, I'm sure, you dolt." Harry leans back down, and Louis throws his arm a little further around Harry's shoulder. "I'll always want you to stay," Louis whispers. "Don't forget."

Harry nods. "I wont." He takes a deep breath.

"What's up, Harry?" 

"Nothing, nothing. I'm just sad, y'know? We leave tomorrow."

"It was a good run, kid," Louis jokes. "Judges’ Houses soon, as well! It won't be so bad. You'll text me on your fancy talking phone?"

Harry nods again, and smirks. Just as to irk Louis, he pushes a button on his watch, and aloud it reads, "It is 1:15 a.m."

"Arse," Louis mumbles. Harry cackles loudly, and he smushes his face into Louis' shoulder to muffle the noise. "Is there anything else bothering you, Hazza? You seem off for some reason." Harry sighs loudly, and the air that blows out tickles Louis' skin. He can't help but wonder about whatever is worrying Harry. "You can tell me, y'know."

Louis watches Harry blink in the firelight. "I know, but sometimes I just. I don't know. I've never been good at talking about this sort of stuff. With anyone."

"Well, no pressure. But I'm always hear to listen."

Harry doesn't say anything. The quiet drags on for too long to be comfortable, but Louis waits for him to break it because of the weird twist in his stomach telling him that it shouldn't be himself who does. "Louis, can I ask you something?"

"You just did, love," Louis chuckles back. 

Louis regrets his joke as soon as he see the furrow set in between Harry's eyebrows, on his forehead. "Serious. Like a serious question."

"Oh, yeah. Of course, Harry," Louis blurts, cursing himself in his head for being such an idiot and making that awful joke. 

"What do you look like?" His voice quiet, almost shy and embarrassed.

"Oh." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis knows he's probably saying that too much. "I've got brown hair that's kind of light and blue eyes, but I suppose you don't know colors, do you?" Harry shakes his head. "Um, my eyebrows are high and my jaw is cut. Some people say I'm quite feminine? I don't know."

Harry's face is concentrated, like he's trying to picture him. "I- I don't ask this often, because, like, I don't like to scare people, or make them uncomfortable, but could I maybe, um, feel you?" He winces when he's done talking, and Louis immediately grabs his hand to comfort him, as if to say no, it's okay. 

"Whatever you want, Harry," Louis whispers. "Whatever helps."

Harry nods, and his eyes are shiny. Louis reaches down to their twined hands and takes them apart, and he reaches for Harry's other one and places them on his cheeks. Harry takes a shuddery breath, and his thumbs sweep across Louis' skin. It feels oddly intimate, so Louis squeezes Harry's knee because it feels right. Harry's long fingers travel across his chin and over his dry lips, They wander right over his nose and trace his eyebrows. Gently, they move over his eyelids, and eventually they find his hair and card through once. His fingertips drag over the back of his neck, onto his shoulders, and his thumbs dip into his collarbones that his shirt cuts low enough to show. 

Harry squeezes his biceps, and Louis takes a deep breath. "You feel beautiful," Harry whispers. "Even though that sounds rather creepy."

Louis chuckles, puts his hands on top of Harry's. "Means well though," he laughs. He takes his hands and squishes Harry's face. "You're quite soft. And you look pretty pretty." 

Harry snorts at him. "So, have at it then. Tell me how I look."

Louis quirks an eyebrow even though he knows Harry can't see the look of confusion on his face. "Has no one told you before?"

"No," Harry says slowly. "I just want to hear it from you."

"Oh, so I'm special?"

"Maybe," Harry says coyly. "But that's beside the point. Tell me."

Louis looks at him carefully in the low light of the flickering fire. His eyes are open and glassy. Sometimes Louis is astounded, just from how he is. His hair is a chocolatey, healthy brown falling onto his forehead, and his lips look ruby red. 

"You look like the kind of guy that will have everyone falling to their knees," Louis starts because he can't think of anything else, and it's true. "Your body is long, but you've got quite a lot to grow, 16-year-old. You're also quite pale, but you live in England where the sun never shines so you can't be blamed. It suits you, anyhow. Your nose," Louis murmurs, running a finger down it for effect, "has a good slope, but your nostrils are huge. Doesn't take away from anything, though.

"The ladies are going to swoon at you for your hair, Harold." Louis watches his face scrunch up but says nothing. "It's such a pretty brown, and you've got these lovely curls. But I think my favorite part is your eyes. They're big and wide and always show the truth. And they're the warmest, most stunning green I have ever seen. I promise you, Harry, you're gorgeous."

Louis takes a deep breath when he's done, and he pulls Harry in closer and hugs him tight. "Thank you," Harry whispers into Louis' shoulder. 

"You shouldn't have to. I meant every word."

They sit by the fire until the wood burns out and Harry can't keep his pretty eyes open. 

***

One Direction, as named by Harry, makes it past the Judges’ Houses. They sing  _Torn_  with all their hearts, and Harry's big voice leads them all the way through. Louis can't breathe for most of the time, and he's only registering the fact that it's not over. Nothing is ending yet, and they're going to be on live television for all of the UK. 

It's kind of a big moment. Harry's arms have never felt so right. 

***

The autumn brings the X Factor house, and their room is gross within the first three days. It's really more like the first ten hours, but Louis likes to think otherwise. Right away, they settle in with little problem. Louis has his hand on the small of Harry's back for a lot of the beginning week as he learns this new semi-permanent home, the walls, the stairs, his bottom bunk right beneath Louis. He takes it head on, and Louis can't deny the amount of times he just smiles at him for being so brave and strong. 

Their first week is a lot of adjustment. They have to get used to group meals and that small bathroom that nobody likes and the rehearsals all the time. Simon mentors them with his trademark “brutally honest” system, but he's also kind and easier to work with than most would think. Louis likes the intensity of it all, and what he really likes is that first time they sit down at the bottom of the stairs for these "video diaries" they're supposed to make.

Harry smiles at the camera with his sparkly eyes even though he can't see it, and he's brighter than ever, while he's here. It doesn't take long for him to open up. Right away, he's charming and cheeky, and everything that Louis loves in him from the get-go. He gets shaken before their first live performance, and Louis has to rub his back after he gets a bit sick, but he whispers in his ear how amazing he is, how much he deserves it, how good he is. And they go out there and kill it.

There are fans, Louis notices, and there are votes, and it doesn't stop. 

***

It's around the fourth week, the night before their performance, when Louis is woken up by a gentle tapping on his shoulder, and a soft, "Lou," being breathed into his face. 

"Harry?"

"Yeah."

Louis sits up and rubs his bleary eyes. He can see Harry standing right next to his top bunk, obviously having stood from his one beneath him. "What's up, love?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Nightmare?" Louis asks. 

"No," Harry whispers. 

"Nervous?"

"Not really."

"What is it, babe?" In the dim lighting that pours in from the window, Louis can see Harry's brow furrow. 

"Can you come down here?" Harry mumbles. "S'cold, too."

Louis smiles, knowing that Harry's probably in close to nothing, but climbs down anyway, hearing Harry slide back into his bed. He fumbles around the crap they have on the ground, but pushes into Harry's warm duvet and his warm body, wrapping his cold hands around Harry's waist and feeling his shiver. Louis laughs. 

"What is it, Hazza? I know something's up."

Harry heaves a sigh. He pushes his face into Louis' neck. "Remember back at the bungalow, y'know, when we were playing Never Have I Ever?"

"Sure," Louis murmurs. 

"And remember when I said that I'd never kissed a bloke?" Louis nods against him, knowing that he'll feel it rather than see it. "I haven't kissed anyone."

"That's okay," Louis says.

"Will you kiss me, Lou?" Harry asks, and it's not that cheeky, charming Harry. It's the vulnerable one, when he's in his shell, intimidated. 

And Louis wants to do it. He wants to do it, but. But. "No," he breathes. He's glad, in a sense, that he can't see Harry's face too clearly, because whatever his expression, it would kill him. "I can't do that," Louis mutters. "I can't."

"Bloody why not?" Harry wails. He turns out of Louis' grip so his head is facing up and his body is as far away from Louis as he can get on the small bed. He lets his hands sprawl out, and one lands on Louis' stomach. He wants to grab it and knows he shouldn't. Harry takes a deep, shaky breath before Louis even gets a chance to give some kind of reasoning. 

"Y'know, sometimes I think because I'm blind that no one will ever love me. Like, properly, y'know. Not like mum loves me and you boys and the fans or whatever they are. But like, love love, yeah? And god, I must sound so stupid. 'Cause I try not to let shit like this get to me. I know who I am, and it's a priority of mine to never, ever take anything for granted, but who falls in love with the blind kid? I don't make it a big deal, and I try not to say much. I try not to let it get in my way, but sometimes it hurts, Lou. It hurts really bad." 

He's choked up by the end, and Louis takes his hand and pulls him back in because Harry should never have to cry. He lets it out as Louis cradles him to his chest, touching his hair and kissing his forehead because that's the best he can do. It's almost entirely silent aside from a hitching breath or two. 

Louis has that burn in his chest that aches every bone in his body, and he doesn't know what to do. In the end, he goes back to his morals, like he thinks he should. Because even though Harry is 16 and innocent, he's not dumb, and he knows what he's asking for. Plus, Louis is following the golden rule, the basis of all morality – honesty is the best policy. 

"Hey, babe," Louis whispers when he thinks he's finished. Harry sniffles and wriggles around in his grip after realizing what he's just done. "None of that," Louis murmurs, and he pets his head again. "You're allowed to cry, Harry. You're allowed to feel things. Never be ashamed of that. Trust me, there have been too many times where I cried into mum's arms." He chuckles lightly even though he's acutely aware that Harry won't be laughing with him.

There's a long, heavy pause. 

"Do you wanna know what I think, though? All of that you said, it's complete shit. You're better than that, y'know? You're not just the blind kid. You're Harry fucking Styles and you've got to think it that way. You have all this talent, you really do. And you've got a heart to die for and a laugh that makes me want to stay by your side forever."

Harry squishes his face even farther into Louis' neck. 

"And do you know what else, Harry?" Louis breathes, and this it, this is the moment of truth. "I do want to kiss you. I really fucking do."

Harry moves backward a little. "Then do it."

Louis heaves a breath. "I don't want to take anything away from you, Harry."

"You won't be taking shit away from me!" Harry exclaims as angrily as he can in a whisper. 

"I don't think that your first kiss should be with someone who you don't want it from, like, genuinely." Louis is making no sense. Louis has lost his diversion tactic touch. 

"God, you complete wanker. Are you stupid?" Louis frowns. "I want it from you, Louis. Do you honestly think I would ask you if I didn't want it from you? Like, do you think I'd go up to like, Niall or something and be like, hey mate I've not had a proper snog yet care to do the honors?  _No_. I want you. I want a lot from you, Lou."

Well, there's really no getting around it now. Obviously, Harry is not one to beat around the bush. Louis is floundering a little. But instead of trying to even argue a little, he pushes one of his hands into Harry's hair. "Sure?"

"Really, really, really sure."

Louis leans in close in the darkness, seeing Harry's wide open eyes but wondering what he's feeling with most. He wonders if his skin is bristling with every bit of movement. He wonders if he tastes the dry roof of his mouth that feels like evening. He wonders if he smells anything, or if Louis smells like anything to him. He wonders if he hears anything, like the breathing of the other boys, of Louis, the soft movement of their legs on the sheets, his own heart. 

Louis presses his own dry lips to Harry's, counts one, two, three, and pulls back. Harry makes a face at him. 

"You just kissed me like my mum." His tone is dry, and Louis can't help but laugh uncontrollably into his shoulder. He can practically see the look on his face without even glancing up, and he immediately feels bad.

"Okay, redo, redo." 

Harry slaps his arm fondly. 

Louis kisses him. He goes in slow, cups his face with one hand and smooths a thumb across his soft face. Harry blinks, and Louis watches the way his eyelashes brush against his cheeks before kissing him again, like the last time, but suddenly more. Louis is feeling everything. He moves his lips against Harry's and feels the shiver that rocks him to his toes. He smells Harry's fruity shampoo and special Harry smell as he runs his fingers through his hair. He tastes the chapstick that lingers on Harry's lips because he's so obsessed with wearing it in and approaching the wintertime. And it feels like everything is amped up, every sensation is bigger, better, and he wonders how it feels for Harry, when everything is  _always_  like that. And he wonders if he's feeling everything Louis is. 

Louis weaves his fingers gently in Harry's hair and cards gently, trying to focus on  _kissing_  Harry and not on the fact that  _he's kissing Harry_. He wills himself to let go, to not freak out, and just keep their lips moving gently together until he needs to take a breath and needs to see Harry's bright eyes and unknown expression. 

Harry starts giggling when Louis pulls back, the menace. He muffles his sounds into Louis' shoulder, and when he finally gains self control, the dim lighting is still enough to show the grin that stretches across his face, staying there until happiness bubbles over again, spilling out onto Louis' tee when he laughs again. Louis pets his hair, waiting a little anxiously for him to say something. 

He doesn't say anything. Instead, he winds up taking his hand from where it was resting gently on Louis' arm and moves it to his shoulder, leaning in on his own account, and going so slowly that it hurts. Louis knows that he's feeling though; he waitings until their lips brush so he knows where he is, and kisses Louis again. He's more eager this time, more persistent because he's familiar with what he's doing. Louis keeps his hand cupped around Harry's jaw, smoothing with his thumb and slowly giving and taking, waiting to see if Harry will ask for more, if he wants that.

As it turns out, Harry doesn't ask at all. He simply takes, and Louis couldn't care less. He opens his mouth a little wider, and Louis just knows. He lets his tongue part Harry's lips, licks into his mouth. He listens to the breathy exhales through Harry's nose, and he kisses him slowly and cards through his hair until he can't feel his toes and he's beyond overwhelmed. 

When he pulls back for a second time, Harry just sighs, and Louis needs to look at him to make sure it's not a sad one. Again, he has that silly little grin on his lips, and it's Louis' turn to laugh. He chuckles into Harry's neck until he realizes where he is, and he kisses up Harry's neck. 

"Good first kiss?" Louis murmurs gently against Harry's jaw.

"No," Harry mutters. Louis feels his heart drop."The first one was shit."

Harry laughs into Louis's shoulder, and Louis flicks his hand. "Arse."

"Mmhh..." Harry rumbles. "Tired now."

"Sure you are," Louis laughs, making to shift out of bed. 

"Hey," Harry whines, wrapping an arm around Louis' waist. "Don't leave."

Louis looks around the dark room, at the other sets of bunks, and he relents. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. It's happened before, anyway." 

Harry laughs softly into him and leans forward to kiss him, jolts a bit when their noses brush, and then giggles as he brushes them together in an Eskimo kiss. "I missed."

"You did," Louis whispers, and he pecks him once. "Sleep, love."

"Sleep," Harry repeats, turning in Louis' arms so his back is flush to Louis' chest. So he does. 

***

Louis remembers his first kiss rather clearly. He was eleven years old, and it only happened because his mum was out at work, and he was locked out. He was there. A curious neighbor was there. Classic elementary tomfoolery. 

His fourth kiss was with Stan in the locker rooms after everyone had gone, and while they both wound up laughing, Louis felt a twist in his stomach and a mass of thoughts that he swore he'd sleep off, but they ended up never leaving.

His fifth kiss was at a seedy pub miles away from home with a boy on the dance floor.

He doesn't remember each individual kiss after that; not the number, not who it was with, not when or where or why. 

And now, another week into the X Factor, every kiss with Harry is significant. They don't have numbers, and they don't always have purposes, but sometimes Harry will reach out with cautious fingers and brush Louis' jaw, or he'll hit Louis' nose first, and he'll trail them down to Louis' lips until he knows where he is, and he’ll lean forward, kissing him gently first, finding his place, and eventually becoming eager, letting his hands roam along Louis' back or chest and even his bum, when he's feeling daring. Those kisses aren't labeled, but they're the best Louis has ever had. 

***

The first time Harry gets hard when they kiss is after they've been going at it for a while. They're on Harry's bottom bunk again, and everyone is downstairs for a movie marathon. Harry and Louis both claimed they were tired after the first one, and about half the room sent Louis a look, but he just put on his acting cap and faked a yawn. He lead Harry out with a hand on the small of his back, and Louis knew they weren't fooling anyone. 

Harry makes his way to the bed without his cane, but sprawls out. Once he’s on the mattress, he lets his eyes flutter shut. Louis sneaks up on him, plopping his weight down into his lap and hearing Harry squeal. 

"Bastard," he says. 

Louis laughs at him, pinches his cheeks and watches him throw his head about. 

They're quiet for a while, breathing sounding heavy in the silent room. Louis thumbs his fingers along Harry's collarbones, and in a moment when it feels right, he says, "Harry?"

And Harry says back, "Lou?"

Louis lets himself chuckle, but he leans down, their chests flush together and his legs landing between Harry's. He settles his head in the crook of his neck. "Serious question." Harry grows stiller, and he puts a hand on Louis' back no matter how uncomfortable it is to have Louis completely on top of him. "What's it like, being blind? Like. I know you see nothing, but. Is it darkness, or?" Louis gets tongue tied quickly. He winces at his own wording. 

Harry takes a moment. “Close one eye,” he says. Louis follows suit. “What do you see?”

Louis lets out a quiet breath. “Nothing.”

“That's it.”

Louis lets it sink in, seeing nothing like that. 

“When you close your eyes you can still see color and light, y’know? For me it’s like seeing nothing. Darkness doesn’t exist. Not having eyes, I suppose.” He chuckles lightly. “But I don’t know any better, really. Sometimes it gets me down, but I’ve grown used to it. When I was younger I didn’t understand the concept of seeing at all.”

“You were born blind, then?” Louis asks. 

Harry hums in agreement. “Birth defect. Mum was a wreck for the first month, she tells me. I’d figure it’d be worse when I was old enough to talk, but I guess not. I wonder sometimes how I learned everything. She always tells me how smart I am, but, like. You guys learn by matching a picture to a word, but I had to learn a word and then use the words I already knew to describe new words. If that makes sense."

“It does,” Louis assures. “You don’t remember learning?”

“Well, not when I learned how to talk and everything. Does anyone remember that stuff?”

Louis laughs at himself. “I suppose not.” It’s quiet again, after that. Louis keeps his lips pressed to Harry’s neck and counts to one hundred before he asks another question. “Do you dream?”

“Only auditory ones. So like, sometimes I’ll have dreams of people’s voices or them telling me something. I’ll have dreams of music or dialogue, and sometimes there will be crashes and bangs or like, a gunshot or something. Personally, I like when it’s running water and flute music.” His tone is dry for the last sentence, and Louis lets his loud laugh out into Harry’s neck and slots their legs better together. 

“Dear god Harry have you actually had a dream like that?”

Harry makes a face at him. “Honest. I always wake up feeling very tranquil. It’s kind of reoccurring.”

“Maybe you should take up yoga,” Louis suggests lightly, teasingly. 

“It’s one of the biggest disappointments in life that I can’t do it,” Harry sighs. Louis can’t tell if he’s kidding or not, and he immediately recoils. 

“Oh,” Louis breathes. 

Harry prods at him after a moment too long of quiet. “Hey. Why’ve you gone all quiet?”

“I just. I didn’t know if you meant that seriously.”

“Meant what?”

“Not being able to do yoga.”

Harry lets out a little noise of understanding. “Oh, I. No. I didn’t.”

Well. 

What does Louis know. 

“But,” Harry says, “it used to.” Louis’ ears quirk up. “Like, I remember when I was fourteen, and I wanted to go rollerskating with one of my friends – that was the thing, then – but I couldn’t because my mum wouldn’t let me. I remember just getting so  _upset,_ and I screamed at her because I was so angry with her for saying that I couldn’t. For saying that it was too dangerous. And well. It was true, looking back on it, but I felt so incompetent and useless.”

“Harry,” Louis lets out softly, his breath ghosting across Harry’s skin, flitting away to hide in Harry’s nooks and crannies. Maybe it’ll stay there. 

“Hey,” Harry murmurs, and he takes his hand off of Louis’ back and puts it on his head. He rubs softly right behind Louis’ ear. “I’m older now. I get it. I know I’m not what I thought I was. Yeah, I was a depressed and pessimistic 14-year-old, but then again, who isn’t? I’ve grown up quite a bit. I’ve kind of accepted that there are things I’m not going to be able to do. I just... take it lightly now. Not exactly a joke, but part of life, right? Like everything else.”

Louis rolls off of him, but keeps their legs twined together. He curls into his side and whispers, “Harry Styles you are so fucking strong. You can do anything. Whatever you want, you can conquer it, okay? We will do some god damn yoga and play flute music, and we’re gonna make it in this competition, and you don’t even have to prove anything to anyone, you’re so fucking lovely.”

Harry makes this noise low in his throat. “Kiss me, please,” he gasps out. 

Louis goes for slow and sweet, cupping Harry’s jaw in his hands and licking into his mouth at an agonizing pace, constantly re-angling their heads and bringing their lips together over and over again. Harry goes for just the opposite. He threads long fingers into Louis’ thin hair and slots their lips together, keeping them close and making it so Louis has to situate himself on Harry’s lap to make it comfortable at all. He’s feverish and rushed, and it’s so, so messy, but Louis loves it so much. He shifts up further on Harry’s lap and runs his thumbs across Harry’s soft cheeks in a continuous, lazy pattern. 

Harry sucks on his tongue and tugs at his bottom lip with his teeth, obviously having gotten good at this over the past few weeks. Their breath is hot, and it’s making Louis hot; it’s everywhere, in his fingertips, in his chest, in his stomach, right where it pools the most. He can’t even think about anything else aside from his hands on Harry’s skin and the smacking sound of their lips. 

When Harry goes tense beneath him, Louis’ mind defogs like it’s been cleaned by a windshield wiper, and he lets his eyes flutter open as he looks down at Harry’s expression. His eyebrows are pulled taught and he looks worried. Louis smooths a gentle finger over the crease on his forehead and presses his this lips there. “What’s up, darling?” 

He cups his fingers around Harry’s face and feels his cheeks flush. “I, um–” Harry starts, and whatever it is, he obviously doesn’t know how to say it. 

“Show me, instead,” Louis says softly. 

Harry lets out a soft little noise, and his cheeks are still hot, but he rolls up his hips, and.  _Oh._ He’s hard, and Louis hadn’t noticed at all. Obviously his mind was more fogged than he had originally thought. He thumbs across Harry’s cheeks and sits up a bit, back. 

“Oh,” Louis says aloud. “Do you need to cool off? ‘Cause I can just, go up to the top bunk for a bit. We can kiss more later.”

There’s a furrow between Harry’s brow, and it actually physically  _hurt_  to say that, because why the fuck would he ever deny himself sex, especially with someone as fit as Harry? But Harry’s still pure. (Well, physically he is. According to his perverse, cheeky jokes, his mind is certainly ahead.) But. Regardless. Louis has got a semi in his pajama pants, and Harry looks uncomfortable, so he’ll think about grans and cacti because neither of those things are sexy. It should work. 

Harry blinks, and he mutters, “Wait.  _What?_ ”

And wait. What? 

Louis shifts further back onto Harry’s thighs, because controlling himself is getting increasingly harder. “Wait what, what?”

“What,” Harry deadpans. It’s basically half a question at this point. 

Louis has to laugh at how ridiculous they sound. “Why do you sound so scandalized at my proposition?”

Harry looks even more confused. “Why do you sound so scandalized at  _mine_? Do you not wanna get off, or?”

Louis clears his throat, looks away even though Harry can’t see him. “Well, no. I do, but I figured that you wouldn’t, so.” He trails off kind of awkwardly. Once upon a time Louis thought himself eloquent, good at getting his thoughts out on the table. Now is obviously not one of his prime moments. 

“Is my boner telling you that I  _don’t_  want to get off?” Harry’s stern, but jokingly so. He’s got that coy, hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth that Louis is starting to recognize. He happens to wear it a lot. Arse. 

“Well, no, but you just had your first kiss, like, ten days ago and I kind of figured you wouldn’t want to move so fast? I don’t know.” It’s only  _after_  he speaks does Louis realize that he sounds like the world’s biggest dumbfuck, but what can he say. He scrubs a hand over his forehead. 

“Louis,” Harry starts slowly. “I’m sixteen, I’ve been perpetually horny since I met you, and just because I can’t physically watch porn doesn’t mean I don’t google things with my quote ‘fancy talking computer’ when I’m home alone, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis breathes. “Yeah, okay.”

He leans down and braces himself on Harry’s shoulders, placing kisses on his warm neck, shifting forward again so their hips are aligned again. Harry’s cock is thick and hard in his sweats, and Louis palms him once just to see his reaction. A whimper spills from Harry’s lips, and if Louis wasn’t all the way hard before, he is now. 

He rolls his hips in an experimental kind of way, and Harry bucks up beneath him. He doesn’t exactly think there’s going to be too much of a problem. Louis leans down to his ear, holding onto the bars above the bunk with one arm and trailing his other hand up and down the junction of Harry’s neck as he whispers, “Follow my lead, yeah? And you can make noise, but we don’t want disrupt movie night, yeah?”

There’s a loud rumble from the floor below them from where movie night is unfolding. They can hear the next action film starting, and Harry makes a noise at him. “Okay, so maybe we aren’t going to disrupt movie night. Let loose, Harold.”

Harry just ignores his speech and grabs him by the hair, yanking him down for a bruising kiss that manages to not smash their noses together and feels so good, Louis might lose the feeling in his toes. Harry’s hips push up clumsily, a little all over this place, but so, so good. Louis pulls away from the kiss to suck a mark on Harry’s left collarbone, but the collar of his maroon henley keeps getting in the way, so he taps Harry’s hip and tugs on the hem of his shirt to get him to sit up a bit more and let Louis pull it off of him. Harry’s hands roam underneath Louis’ shirt as well, on the soft skin of his back and along his spine, only to prompt him to take his off as well. 

Louis keeps sucking the mark onto Harry’s chest as their hips grind sloppily together, sending this good –  _great –_ feeling through Louis’ body. Harry’s hands are everywhere, constantly feeling and moving and touching. His face is tucked into Louis’ neck as he presses kisses along his collarbones, and he breathes in often, no doubt taking everything in with every other sense he can. Harry’s nails drag a bit down Louis’ back as his hips get even more stuttering, and he whispers, “Close, Lou.”

“Me too, babe, me too.”

Louis reaches between them and shifts slightly to the right, palming Harry a few times through his sweats until he lets out a breathy little moan, arches his back, and comes in his pants. Louis lazily ruts on Harry’s thigh and mouths at his jawline until he comes too, biting down on his soft skin until he collapses heavily in his lap. 

“We just came in our pants,” Harry states, a little breathless. 

“Yup,” Louis sighs dreamily. “I remember the first time that happened. I was twelve.”

They share a little hum about wet dreams, and yeah, eventually they clean up. 

*** 

It’s harder, after that, because movie night only comes once a week, and they do actually play good films every now and again. They rub off on each other’s thighs once in the dead of night when the other boys are out cold, but there’s always that niggling feeling that Niall’s going to jolt awake or that Liam will hear them. They succeed, though, falling asleep after slinking off to the bathroom to clean up and not bothering to put shirts back on when they can feel warm skin instead. 

The day after that, Harry wakes up with some serious morning wood, and when the room is empty when they wake, Louis smirks at him. 

“Are we going to do something about that?”

“I’m going to take it we’re alone?” Harry responds. 

“Mmhh...” Louis murmurs into his neck, biting down softly. “Bingo.”

“What if they come back from breakfast?” Okay. Louis gets that. He doesn’t want to scar poor Liam. 

“Come with me?” he asks instead, folding their fingers together and dragging them out of their dirty, cramped room and into the bathroom. He flicks the lock and tries to fight the grin that he always has plastered on his face around Harry. 

Right away, Louis presses Harry into the counter of the sink, digging his fingers into his hips and kissing him hard. Harry makes a muffled noise of surprise, but his hands find away into Louis’ hair after trailing up his back. Louis holds onto him tightly, petting at his back above the swell of his bum and kissing him in some strange attempt of telling him everything he doesn’t know how to say out loud. 

His fingers toy at the waistband of the sweatpants Harry had changed into last night. 

“I’m gonna jerk you off, okay?”

Harry’s breath hitches so hard Louis is a bit afraid that he’s going to choke on air. He doesn’t, though, and he nods instead. Louis kisses him again as he pulls down Harry’s sweats to sit halfway down his thighs, cock hard between his legs and breath coming out in heavy puffs through his nose. Louis trails his fingers down the underside of Harry’s cock, and at his gasp into Louis’ mouth, he has to pull way just watch the way his eyes grow wider.

“Lou,” Harry whines quietly, trying to lean forward for another kiss. 

“Hey,” Louis murmurs. “I’m gonna take care of you, all right?” He presses his lips to Harry’s cheek and wraps his fist around Harry’s cock. He strokes slowly, feeling how dry it is from the beginning and licking a stripe up his palm. He dips his thumb into the precome that’s leaking from the tip and slicks up his hand, pumping Harry slowly and feeling his hips buck up into Louis’ fist, chasing whatever’s coming his way. He pushes his thumb right where the crown meets the shaft, and Harry whines low in his throat. “Shh, love.” Louis bites the corner of his jaw. “We don’t know who’s up here still.”

Harry nods gently, his fingers carding gently through Louis’ hair as a reminder of where he is, and Louis keeps jacking him off, sucking lightly on his collarbone as he moves his hand between their bodies. He twists his wrist at the base, and Harry’s drawn taut, a line waiting to snap, a breath being held in for too long. 

“Lou,” Harry whimpers out again. 

“Close, babe?” Louis whispers against his collarbone, eyeing up the nice purple bruise he left there. 

“Yeah, I–” Harry starts, breathless and frazzled, eyes wide and chest heaving. 

“Let go, Harry,” Louis tells him, and Harry does, hips pumping up into Louis’ hand as he thumbs across the tip and coming into Louis’ fist. 

Harry laughs airily when he’s come down, and Louis reaches behind his sweaty chest to turn on the sink and rinse off his hand. 

“Good?” Louis asks. 

Harry smiles, a little dazed. “So good.” He makes a move with an unsure hand to palm Louis though his flannels. 

Louis catches his wrist and manages to hold back the noise that was about to creep up his throat. “Later,” he murmurs. “Breakfast now, before it manages to disappear.”

Harry nods, and they stumble out of the bathroom. Half an hour later, Harry jerks Louis off with an increasingly steady fist and breath so hot on his neck, Louis has trouble holding back. 

***

They’re stupid and don’t give a fuck, so at one a.m. after their seventh week of making it through the show, they can’t sleep, and they steal bean bags. Okay, so. They don’t really  _steal_ them, but they take the two comfiest, most plush bean bags (the blue ones) from downstairs, and as quietly as they can, manage to drag them up the staircase and out onto the balcony. It’s freezing, but they bundle up in two hoodies each and watch the empty roads and the one streetlamp that illuminates in front of the house. 

Their giggles have long subsided since stumbling up the stairs, and since then it’s been quiet. Louis is having none of that. 

“Harry?” he says into the darkness.

“Hmm,” Harry answers, kind of out of it and loose. 

“Serious question,” Louis starts, mostly out of habit. He finds Harry’s hand where their bean bags meet and twines their fingers together. “Has anyone tried to explain colors to you?”

Louis hears Harry shift, and he squeezes his big hand. “Yeah, um. They have, in the past.”

“Has anyone ever succeeded?” Louis asks, because he likes to know things like this, he’s noticed. He likes the weirdest, simplest, and most obscure things about Harry. He likes his slow drawl and his terribly orchestrated stories and the purse of his lips and his bright, pink cheeks when they come in from being outside in the bitter England’s cold. He’s irritatingly intrigued in everything about Harry, except he’s not irritated by it in the least. 

“No,” Harry breathes softly. “I’ve kind of given up on colors. Which is– whatever, y’know?” He sounds wistful, and Louis desperately wishes that there was some way he could change his tune. 

Louis bites his lower lip in thought and runs a hand through his fringe. “Could I try?”

Louis can just see in the poor lighting Harry’s soft smile that spreads across his face. It looks a little reluctant, but Louis is glad he’s willing at all. “Sure, I guess.”

Louis squeezes his palm again and reaches his other hand to smooth up Harry’s arm so he knows where he’s going. It works its way up his shoulder and neck and jaw, putting light pressure where it stops so he can tilt Harry’s head in for a kiss. Harry meets it easily, exhaling what sounds heavy, and Louis breathing in whatever burden from Harry he can take. He hates when he’s troubled. 

There’s a lengthy pause as Louis searches for where to start, but eventually he says, “White is nothingness. It’s in an unrestrained, blinding way. If every beautiful thing came at you at once, you would probably see white.” Louis stops to see Harry’s reaction, and his brow is furrowed in thought and he looks pensive. Louis decides that it’s probably safer to wait until the end. He leans back in his bean bag chair and looks up at the two or three stars he can pick out. “Black is nothingness too. But it’s the kind that makes you scared, because it’s uncertainty. It’s what everyone  _imagines_ being blind is like. Black is not being able to tell where you’re going.”

Harry huffs heavily, and Louis thumbs a pattern on the back of his hand. “Yellow is warmth and happiness, and red is fire – heat. It’s how I feel when I’m kissing you. Orange is a happy medium of sorts. It’s not quite  _blazing,_ but it’s almost a duller version of red, yet still very much alive. Green is life, growth. 

“Blue is one of my favorites, mostly because it’s rather versatile. It’s a lot of things. Blue can be cold and icy, like a winter’s day, but it can also, like, mix around with green to make a turquoise or aqua that’s warmer and happier. Purple is kind of like fire and water meeting. Bright, but unique. Pink is loving and warm, but in a different way that yellow. Technically it’s red in white mixed, but.” Louis struggles to continue, and he ignores the fact that he probably sounds like a psycho. He takes a breath. “It’s more – more  _loving._ ”

Harry toys with his fingers. 

“Grey is sadness. It’s fuzzy and hazy and how it feels when you want to break down. The sound when the radio isn’t working, that’s grey. Brown is a little bit of everything. It’s everywhere, really. I think brown is probably the most widespread color out there. It can be mousy and gross, but also the basis for a lot of things. People are all sorts of browns. Trees and animals and dirt are brown. I think that’s one the hardest to explain, really.”

There’s another pause, and Louis takes it upon himself to conclude. “So that probably made absolutely zero sense, but. Tried my best.” Louis laughs awkwardly. 

Louis shuts his trap. 

 Harry moves around in the bean bag and takes his hand away from Louis’. Louis curls and uncurls his fist, but then Harry is crawling onto his lap and taking his face into his big palms. Their noses are nearly brushing when Harry says, “Thank you,” and they’re already kissing before Louis has time to make his stupid joke of saying  _what for?_

Harry is insistent with his lips and his fingers stroking over Louis’ face. It feels like he’s pushing, pushing so hard with his plush mouth and warm tongue, trying to tell something to Louis that he can’t quite figure out. He pulls back to say, “Hey.”

And Louis says back, “Hey.”

“Serious,” Harry murmurs, his lips ghosting along Louis’ jaw. “I love you, y’know?” Louis’ heart is caught up in his throat and his chest goes tight. “You’re my best friend.”

Harry’s kissing him again before he gets the chance to respond, and his weight is too settled on his lap for Louis to even think about running away. He tightens his grip on Harry’s waist and kisses back, getting lost and not bothering to look for the surface. 

***

Louis knows that he’s in love. He knows it in every brush of his fingertips across Harry’s skin, in every kiss that sends a rush through him, in every smile that spreads across Harry’s face when he tells a story or smiles or sings so big on that stage. Louis knows that he’s in love, and it’s kind of unsettling. 

He’s not used to that little twist in his gut and the butterflies that swim through his stomach every time he merely looks in Harry’s direction. He doesn’t know if he’ll  _ever_ get over it. It’s alarming in the strangest kind of way, because while Louis is a fan of surprises, of being left in that state of disbelief, he’s usually good on the rebound. He knows how to pick himself up and dust himself off and keep on going, to turn around with a game plan. But Harry is this omnipresent company that Louis can’t get enough of, and he doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. 

He stays at his hip and keeps their fingers locked because it’s the best he can do. He decides to leave dealing with love for later, and settles on taking things one step at a time. And if that happens to be giving Harry head, then so be it. 

The first time Louis drags Harry into the shower is the night before their eighth performance. No one bats an eye at them, when they go into the bathroom together, mostly because for the first week at the house Louis volunteered to show Harry in and out of rooms and be there in case something went wrong – until he got adjusted – , but also because everyone knows that they’re  _louisandharry_ and there’s something  _more._ Harry’s a little confused, and Louis can see it on his face. He lets go of his wrist once the door is locked behind the two of them, and Harry just touches the counter. 

“Lou, uh,” he starts, “not that I don’t like your company, but why are you in here? I mean, I just need to shower, so–”

Harry makes a muffled noise when Louis leans forward and kisses him, floundering until his hands come up to Louis’ hair and lets Louis suck his lower lip into his mouth. He laughs into Louis’ neck when he pulls back, and Louis just scratches at the back of his neck and presses his lips to Harry’s temple. “I’m in here because I need to shower as well. Save water and all, yeah?”

“Oh,” Harry says on exhale. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Louis asks, checking. 

“Very okay.”

Louis hums into Harry’s skin, pushes up on the corner of his jaw, and kisses him again. He strips him slowly, taking his time to run his hands on every part of his skin that he can reach, biting at his lips and opening his eyes just to see how absolutely lovely he is. “You’re so wonderful, Harry. You know that, right?”

Harry’s cheeks get warm and Louis touches them. “You tell me everyday, I don’t think I could forget.”

“Cheeky,” Louis teases, peeling off his own shirt and shimmying out of his chinos. He keeps his hand on Harry’s wrist as he turns on the shower, feeling the water with his fingers until it’s warm. “Come on, love,” he says, and he steps in with their fingers interlocked and putting his other free hand gingerly on Harry’s hip until he’s stepped into the tub. 

Louis keeps kissing him once they’re under the spray, and he runs his fingers up and down Harry’s back feather-light until Harry pulls back with a whine. “Lou,” he mewls. “You’re gonna get me hard.”

Louis just smirks into his ear. “That’s the idea, babe.” Harry shivers even in the warmth of the water coming down on them, and Louis bites at that spot where his hairline ends, behind the shell of his ear. “Let me wash your hair?” 

Harry giggles softly. “You’ll probably do a better job than I do.” 

Louis just playfully pats his bum and squirts some shampoo in his hands. He gets Harry’s hair all bubbly and smelling like Herbal Essences  _Totally Twisted_ , making sure he scratches his scalp and cards through the tangles. Harry leans back against him under the spray, letting out little soft noises of content, body warm. Louis smiles crookedly at the sight of him. 

“Is this like – a thing for you?” Louis asks. Yeah, he notices how pliant and loose Harry gets whenever Louis plays with his hair, but he wasn’t completely sure just how much he likes it. 

“I guess?” Harry says. “Just feels nice.”

Louis looks over Harry’s shoulder at his cock between his legs, hard and red. “ _Nice,_ ” Louis repeats, almost mockingly. 

Harry chuckles lowly. “Nice.”

“Can I suck you off?” Louis asks. He can’t lie, he really does enjoy the way Harry splutters as soon as he says it. 

“I – um. Yes?” His voice cracks, and he steps under the spray a little further to get the shampoo from his hair. 

“If you don’t want it, you don’t have to say yes,” Louis says slowly, mostly to embarrass him because he  _knows_  Harry wants it. 

“No, no, I. Yes, please. I want it.”

Louis grins crookedly again, hums. He presses his lips to Harry’s jaw and whispers, “Good,” and then drops slowly to his knees on the slippery, hard surface of the tub. He bites Harry’s hip first, to let him know just where he is, and reaches up with his hands to grab Harry’s and put them in his hair. He looks up to see Harry’s eyes closed, and with a gentle hand, he wraps his fist around Harry’s cock and guides it into his mouth. 

Harry lets out the quietest, highest pitched noise, and Louis actually can’t take him. He sucks on the head, tongue flitting over the slit just to see the reactions he can pull out of him. He takes more of him into his mouth slowly, breathing out through his nose and pumping his own cock gently with one of his hands. When he starts to bob his head, Harry actually moans, head tipping back obscenely, and Louis still wonders how everything feels for him, amplified so much. He sucks his cock and fists at the base. 

“Louis, I don’t wanna–” Harry starts. 

Louis pulls off to say, “It’s okay,” before sucking hard on the head and feeling Harry come into his mouth. He swallows, pulls himself off, and stands with red knees and a goofy little smile. Harry kisses him as soon as their chests brush, and Louis grips his hips tighter at how eager he is. He lets the water pour over them, growing colder fast, and pulls back after a few quick moments. 

“Can you wash my body now?” Harry asks, and Louis laughs and reaches for a loofah. 

***

Harry whispers in Louis’ ear all week about how he wants to suck him off, and really, Louis never knew how much of a  _tease_ Harry could be until then. He’s constantly making Louis shiver and catching him off guard when he says how he wants to get on his knees for him, wants to make him feel good, and obviously he knows how to play his cards even when he can’t see them. 

To Louis’ dismay, they don’t catch a free moment to do anything more than snuggle and snog until an entire week later, and he thinks he’s never been this sexually frustrated in his life. After they make it into the final three, their adrenaline is at an all time high, and apparently, so is Louis’ horniness. Even at 18 he reckons that there are things about being a teenager that will surprise you. 

They make it upstairs even though the boys, Matt, and Rebecca are all busy celebrating in the kitchen. Louis genuinely not give less of a fuck, because Harry keeps running his fingers up and down his arm and over all taking his focus away. They stumble on the staircase and laugh into each other’s necks, making it into the One Direction room with wandering hands on winter skin and warm breath on each other’s lips. 

“Lou, Lou, we made it,” Harry breathes into Louis’ skin. “We did it.” 

“Fuck–” Louis lets out, and it’s all that he can manage because Harry is kissing him from where Louis’s got him pressed against the door, gripping onto his hips and wondering how on Earth he’s gotten here – in the finale, in a band, with a soft boy who he bloody loves in his arms – and thanking whatever force it may be. He’s breathless, and this is probably the loudest kiss he’s ever had, their exhales lusty and bouncing off the wall, their lips smacking lewdly but in a perfect kind of way that Louis wouldn’t change. 

“Let me suck you off, please,” Harry says after a minute or probably longer. 

“Yeah, I–” Louis starts, but Harry’s cutting him off again, stepping forward in the least cautious manner and flipping them, so Louis is against their door and Harry is right in front of them. 

Harry drops to his knees and Louis has to catch his breath. 

“On the bright side,” Louis begins, looking down to make eye contact but realizing that Harry wouldn’t even think to, “Niall couldn’t walk in if he tried.” He bangs his elbows gently against the door for emphasis, and Harry laughs into his thigh. 

“Good thing, I’d say,” Harry murmurs. “Doubt he’d enjoy this too much.”

“Eh,” Louis shrugs, but then Harry is running his hands up his thighs to find his waistline and eventually the button on his trousers, so anything else he could’ve possibly said is suddenly entirely unimportant. 

Harry is all touch. His fingers map out everything, gently touching above his boxers before his lips drag along the same skin, slowly running his hand along Louis’ briefs before ghosting his mouth on the fabric that tickles his chin, makes Louis shiver. He’s cautious but eager, finding his way all in due time. Louis thinks that’s good. It gives him time to brace himself so he doesn’t wind up fucking the shit out of Harry’s face. 

Yes. Pace is good. 

He guides a gentle hand into Harry’s hair, petting softly at his forehead and running his fingers along his scalp. Harry glances up at him in a way he knows that Louis’ likes. Louis once told him that he likes the eye contact, that he likes to see Harry directly even though it’s empty on the other end. Harry has taken it to heart ever since. They’re constantly meeting eyes when Harry knows right where he is – after a kiss, during a cuddle, on his knees. 

Once his cock is out, Louis twists his fingers a little tighter, and he whispers, “That’s it, love. You okay?”

“Very,” Harry breathes. “I–”

He can’t even bring himself to finish his sentence before he darts out his tongue and finds the head of Louis’ cock. He purses his lips and sucks gently, learning, tasting. He spends time there, and Louis is very surprised that he doesn’t lose it, because Harry’s eyes are all sparkly and concentrated and his lips are a bright pink wrapped around Louis’ dick as he barely bobs his head as he sucks on the crown. 

“Okay?” Harry says, pulling back after a moment. He looks genuinely concerned, and Louis guesses he wasn’t making it clear enough with the soft little noises that were spilling from his mouth. 

“So okay, Harry,” Louis gets out after gaping and belatedly realizing that Harry can’t see his shocked expression. “Wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Harry doesn’t need much more encouragement before he’s taking all of Louis’ cock in his mouth, testing the weight in his mouth and running his tongue everywhere he can get it. His feeling is making up for his lack of seeing, and his hands sit gently on Louis’ hips, running back to his bum every now and then. 

It’s not long after Harry starts bobbing his head and breathing out heavier through his nose that Louis can’t take it anymore. He has to physically pinch his own hip to stop himself from bucking forward, and he lets out a choked, “Harry, I’m so close, you can pull off if you don’t want to–”

Harry just grips his thighs a little tighter and sucks hard until Louis is bumping the back of his throat, and he’s coming hard. Harry splutters a little, but swallows and pulls off with the tiniest of coughs. “I liked that,” he says when he’s tucked Louis’ softening cock back into his briefs and groped around for Louis’ trousers. 

Louis winds up helping him out and giving him a hand up. “Did you?”

Harry looks pensive, but he winds up kissing Louis instead and murmurs, “Lots,” against his lips. 

***

Seeing Harry cry is probably the worst sight in the world, Louis reckons. His pretty green eyes get too shiny and too red, and his cheeks are splotchy. His voice gets wrecked, but more hoarse and defeated than fucked. His lips get red from chewing on them to hold back whatever sounds want to come from his mouth, and his hair gets all mussed up from pulling on it. It breaks Louis’ heart. 

On the day of the finale, Louis can see the sparkle in Harry’s eyes all day. He’s nervously excited and a little hyperactive, touching Louis more than necessary and fiddling with a piece of his clothing at all times. Louis watches him carefully –  his incessant reapplication of chapstick (because he keeps licking it off), his darting eyes (even though he can’t see), and the twitch in his leg. 

Louis knows he’s freaking out, and before the show he just smooths Harry’s hair and presses his lips to his forehead for a long while as to ease some of the tension. They sing  _Torn_ , and they don’t win. And well, Louis’s gutted, of course. This is everything he’s worked for over the past several months, and it feels like it’s all just crumbled. The rational part of him knows it’s not over, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him that they weren’t good enough. Harry breaks down as soon as they’re backstage, having a cry on Zayn, and then on Louis. 

Louis holds him as best he can without losing it himself, rocking gently and petting the soft back of his neck. Harry looks up at him with owlish eyes, lashes wet and expression skittish and almost unreachable. 

“What’s next?” Harry asks, and Louis wonders what he means. What’s next for us? What’s next for  _harryandlouis_? Louis blinks really hard. 

“We’re gonna go celebrate third place like true men,” Louis chuckles softly, and Harry frowns. 

“You think?” Harry says, and it’s not sarcastic and condescending, it sounds more like  _is that all?_  And Louis sure hopes not. 

“I hope not,” he breathes, because it’s true. “We’re gonna be signed, I think. You know what the judges have been saying, and the fans. Plus, we’ve got the X Factor tour, and our boys. You know what we said up on that stage. We’re staying together.”

“And us?” Harry says quietly. 

“We’re not so far away, Curly,” Louis murmurs. “Pretty close, I’d say.” He hugs Harry closer and hopes that what he’s saying at least makes sense to Harry, because he doesn’t know where his head is. 

***

They’re signed to Syco Records by Simon, and it’s a little surreal. Actually, almost too surreal, because Louis really has trouble grasping onto the concept. To think that less than a year ago he was freaking out over his A Levels and potential uni life, and now he’s moving to fucking  _London_  with this – this  _boy,_ and that they’re writing a book about their story, and the X Factor tour is coming up, and soon they have to go to Los Angeles and Sweden to work on an album. It’s all a little much, really, and Louis is trying his hardest to keep himself under control. 

Originally, Louis thought that he’d never make it to something like this. Sure, he likes surprises. He likes when things are fresh and exciting. But going into the X Factor, he’d never thought he’d wind up in a boy band starting an entirely new lifestyle, and the while, with a boyfriend. Thing. (They’ve not actually discussed what they are yet, all these weeks later.)

He decides that home is a nice start.

After they’re shipped out of the X Factor House with all of their belongings and back to where they come from, Louis flops onto his bed and can’t help but miss the tiny bunks and Harry’s warmth. It’s slightly concerning, how attached he’s become, but he likes the feeling that starts in his chest and settles in his fingertips, although he’s not really sure what to do about it. 

He goes to his mum. 

“I have a – uh, how do I put this –  _thing_ with Harry,” Louis says the second night he’s home and after all of his sisters have gone to bed. 

“Oh, I know,” Jay says, continuing to fix her and Louis’ tea, not even looking up. 

“What? How?”

“Anne,” she responds simply, still not making eye contact. 

“Cox?” Louis asks. “Harry’s mum?”

“Do I know any others? We’ve spoke here and there. She’s rather lovely. I figured it’d be good to be friends if our boys are going to be in a band together.”

“But how do you know?”

“First off, I’m not bloody  _blind;–”_ Louis bites his tongue “ – it’s mother’s instinct. But also, Anne has been telling me that your darling Harry won’t shut up about you. Which is perfectly fine, but it seems like he’s really got it for you.” 

“We’ve only been home for like, a day though,” Louis argues, his mum finally looking up and walking over to his spot on the couch. She gives him a look, and okay, Louis might be a little a dumb. Not one of his finest moments. 

“He’s got a mobile, love. Apparently he’d blab about you every time he called home. It’s sweet, honestly.”

Louis takes a big sip of his tea, crosses his legs. “Everyone thinks I’m dating Hannah, you know.”

“I do know. I  _was_ around when you guys made that decision.” Louis loves Hannah. Hannah is lovely. She agreed to help him keep up with his “straight” image when diving head first into a world of attention. So technically, he has a girlfriend. And a thing. 

“Harry’s not my boyfriend,” Louis blurts. 

“Is he not?” Jay asks. “Does he know that? And, do you want it to be like that?”

“Well, we’ve never talked about it, and I don’t really know what I want. I’m just confused. I might be thinking about it too much, but could we really have a relationship right now? I want one, but–”

“Louis, listen to yourself. You sound bloody ridiculous. It’s all up to you, but I know you. I can tell you love him He’s a special boy, and you need someone like that. You don’t talk about too many people how you talk about Harry, so don’t let it get away from you.” 

***

Louis sees Harry once before they go on tour. It’s only for a few days, and on the first night he’s in Harry’s childhood bed, curled around him, Harry takes him by surprise and pins him down with clumsy hips and big hands cupping his cheeks. He’s not sure how long they kiss, but when Harry pulls away from him his skin is flushed pink on his face and his lips are at least two shades darker. Harry grinds down into him, and Louis’ breath hitches. 

His mouth fumbles around, starting at Louis’ lips and dragging along his skin until he reaches Louis’ ear. “Can we try something?” Harry asks. 

Louis gets a twist in his stomach, and he can’t really tell if he likes it or not. “What do you have in mind, love?”

“I want, um,” Harry starts, awkward and tripping over his words. “Can I have your fingers?”

Louis blanches, and for once he’s thankful that Harry can’t see his expression. It hurts to lie to his face like this, but he says, “Um, I’d rather not, actually,” and immediately winces at how turns off he sounds about the idea. He runs his hands up and down Harry’s arms as if that would do anything to take off the sting. 

“Oh,” Harry lets out breathily, and Louis can hear him trying to hide the disappointment. “Are you not into that? Because I know not everyone likes it, but I thought that maybe you would–”

“Hey, hey,” Louis murmurs softly. “That’s not it, babe,” he says. “Just not yet, okay? Eventually.”  _Soon,_ he wants to say.  _I want to do everything with you,_ he wants to say. He bites his tongue and feels Harry’s head come to rest in the crook of his neck. 

“Okay,” Harry sighs. “Can I suck you off?”

Louis grimaces but his stomach coils and his cock twitches against Harry’s thigh, so he says nothing and lets Harry grope his way down his chest and legs before he can even think about much else.

***

The rest of his time there is not awkward, but Louis distances himself little by little. They don’t get each other off again, and he spends a majority of his time charming Harry’s mum and sister, rather than the person he should be. Their kisses leave a stinging on Louis’ lips rather than the gentle warmth that they usually do, and there’s something eating away at him, in his chest. He’s constantly on edge, and by the time he leaves to drive back to Doncaster, the best he can do is kiss Harry with everything in him and wonder what he’s playing at and why there’s a sinking feeling him following him into the depths of his head. 

They see each other again at rehearsals for the X Factor tour, and Louis goofs off with Zayn and makes Niall fall off of his chair laughing, and when Harry clings to his side, Louis doesn’t cling back as hard. Harry uses his cane a bit more, and Louis hates himself. 

By the night of the first show, their chemistry on stage is perfect, but Louis is all over the place. He’s a little jittery, a little unnerved, and he keeps thinking about the way he didn’t answer Harry’s call on his birthday, and how he didn’t answer Harry’s text on New Year’s Eve that said  _i want to kiss you tonight .x_ with more than just a winky face. When their performance is over, Louis is too high off of the stage to be agitated, but going back to the hotel room that he’s sharing with Harry hits him like a brick to the face. 

Louis holds his hand to lead him through the hotel hallways, but his palm feels sweaty and strange. In the elevator, Liam looks at him concernedly, and Louis doesn’t meet the eye contact. He digs fingers into his thighs and feels the plastic of the key card dig into his hand. Once in their room, Harry asks for some pajamas from his bag on the ground, and Louis is thanked by a haphazardly-placed kiss on his cheek. 

“Thanks, Lou,” Harry whispers. “We’re okay, right?”

“Always,” Louis answers, and it sounds bitter coming off of his tongue. 

They stay in the same bed, but Louis doesn’t really sleep at all. 

***

It’s the next day in the elevator before heading to the venue that Louis really messes up. 

Harry’s being attacked by Zayn with wriggling fingers, and he’s laughing hysterically with his head against the mirror, but calling out his lack of defense. “This is no fair! I can’t even see where you’re coming from! Ambush!” 

Zayn’s grin is all cheek, and he laughs, “Get your boyfriend to defend you!”

Louis blanches a little at the word, but he stays on his toes, reaching out for Zayn’s darting wrists and pinning him back, making him bump into Liam. “Lay off m’boy,” Louis murmurs, and it sounds genuine. 

No one notices his bad mood for the rest day. 

Louis goes to Zayn that same night, while Harry is laughing along with Niall and Liam about whatever they’re discussing. He pulls Zayn out onto the balcony of his and Harry’s room, and he puts his head in his hands. 

“Zayn, I am so fucked in the head,” Louis mutters. 

“Is that why you’ve brought me out here?” Zayn laughs. When he actually gives Louis a look, his expression falls. “Oh, mate. You’re serious.”

“I know that’s not a common occurrence,” Louis grumbles irritatedly, “but yes, I’m  _serious._ ” 

“Sorry–” Zayn begins. 

“Zayn,” Louis murmurs. “Don’t apologize. I’ve just sprung this shit on you, I’m sorry. I’m just confused and for some reason I thought that talking to you might clear my head.”

“Ah, and now you’ve changed your mind? I see how it is, Louis. Doubting me.” His tone is lighter than usual, and Louis manages to laugh. 

“Sorry, Zayn,” Louis starts, voice heavy with sarcasm and the hint of smile playing at his lips, “I just don’t think you’re doing it anymore. Mysterious one is not all he’s shaped up to.”

Zayn rolls his eyes and nudges Louis’ shoulder. “What’s up? Like, for real.”

“Harry,” Louis sighs, and Zayn just raises his eyebrows, telling Louis how obvious he must be. He’s just all over the place these days, isn’t he? He scrubs a heavy hand across his tired face and blinks heavily. 

“Anything about him in particular?” Zayn presses, typically unimpressed with Louis’ admittedly lame one word answer. 

“Bloody everything, Zayn. I don’t know what to do.”

“To do about what, Louis? No offense, but you’re not providing me with much of an issue to mend, babe.”

“I don’t even know what it is, Z. He’s just – he’s everywhere and I don’t know how to do it. I can’t tell him I love him, I can’t even call him my bloody boyfriend.”

“Is it him, though, Louis? Or you?” Zayn asks. 

And of course. Of  _course,_ Louis is always the fucking problem. It’s not Harry. It can’t be Harry. He’s done absolutely nothing wrong, just loved Louis with everything he’s got and given him everything and more that what he’s asked for. “Take a wild guess,” Louis spits, and suddenly he’s just angry. Angry at himself for all of the thoughts that spill into his mind in the middle of the night when Harry is asleep in his arms, breathing onto his neck and being his both his dream come true and worst nightmare. 

“Lou,” Zayn breathes. 

Louis heaves a sigh. “I’m scared, okay? I’m scared of everything that comes with this goddamn relationship.” 

And he looks to his left, at the door back into the hotel. He listens close, and he can hear the three of them laughing; Niall’s cackle, Liam’s chuckle, Harry’s beautiful little giggles. He can see them through the glass, piled on the bed. Louis’ heart aches so badly. 

“All I can really tell you is to take your time, Louis. Harry’s not gonna rush you to do anything, or to say anything. He just loves you a hell of a lot, y’know?”

Louis knows. That’s what makes it an agony that burns right down to his toes. 

***

After another show, Harry asks for Louis to come wash his hair in the shower, and Louis says no. 

Well. He makes an excuse for wanting to shower alone, something about the hotel bathroom being too small and his tiredness being consuming. He shows Harry into the shower and waits for his turn, helps him out once he’s done and hands him sleep clothes that he probably won’t end up wearing. Louis showers by himself, taking his sweet time and using the loud sound of the water hitting the porcelain of the bath to drown out whatever stupid thoughts he’s having. 

Once he’s out, the bathroom is all fogged up, and he’s thankful he doesn’t have to look at himself in the mirror. He pulls on boxers, flannels, and a shirt that’s far too big, padding out to see Harry curled up on one of the beds, under the covers and facing Louis’ side. 

“Louis,” Harry murmurs, and he doesn’t turn over, just waits for Louis to crawl in beside him. Louis does. 

“Yeah, H?”

“Remember that night at my house over break?” 

“Yes,” Louis says slowly. 

“Were you like– completely honest? With, like. Fingers, and stuff. Because you said not yet, but like, I just wanna make sure that you’re comfortable with that. I know that not all gay people are into it, and I don’t want to make you–”

“Harry,” Louis says slowly. “I’m into it, trust me.”

“Oh, good,” Harry says, sighing in relief. “Because a couple nights after you left I tried, like. To myself? And it felt really good, and I can’t wait to share with you. I mean, I’m not pressuring you to do it, because I know a couple weeks ago you said not yet, but–” 

Harry is rambling. Louis presses his lips to Harry’s cheek to get him to quiet, and he rubs a gentle hand down Harry’s arm. “Shh, love. Soon, I promise.” Louis hates making empty promises. He hates this. “But sleep now, okay? Knackered,” he murmurs, and smacks lips. It’s the most honest thing he’s said all night. 

***

Harry’s funny, the rest of the week. He spends a lot more time quiet, staying as close to Louis as possible, but frowning a bit more, saying a lot less. Louis wonders what’s on his mind but doesn’t ask. He wonders when it got to that point, for both of them. He wonders how it came to be that both of them knew something was wrong, but neither approached the issue. Louis blames himself. 

After a show on a Friday, Harry is laying on the bed, sprawled out like a starfish, eyes open and facing the ceiling. “Can I have a kiss?” Harry asks. 

Louis doesn’t respond, just presses close to Harry’s side and lets his lips brush gently over Harry’s. 

“A real one?” Harry asks. 

“M’tired, babe.”

“You’re always tired, Louis! I just want to be close to you. Is that wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why aren’t you letting me?” Harry counters, sounding more sad than angry. Louis hates it; he hates that he made Harry sound this was, this heartbroken and empty. 

“I’m tired,” Louis repeats, and Harry understands that that’s the end of whatever conversation there could’ve been, and any chances of him getting a kiss. 

He rolls over and Louis doesn’t bother to put an arm around his waist. He wonders when it got to this point. He wonders what he’s playing. He lets some tears slip down his face, allows his fingers to dig crescent shapes into his thighs, and tells himself that he needs to learn to be brave.

***

“I am kicking you out,” Liam says, pointing to the open door.

Louis pouts. “You can’t do that.”

“I can; I’m doing it right now,” Liam says, putting his hands on Louis’ shoulders and yanking him to his feet. 

“Go play house with your boyfriend, Lou. You’ve got some big queen beds.”

In any other circumstance, Louis would have raised his eyebrows at Liam’s particularly out of the ordinary comment, proud and impressed, but. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Louis says defensively. 

Liam steps back and takes his hands off of Louis’ shoulders, looking down at the floor, seemingly at a loss for words. 

“I’ll go, though.”

Halfway through his trip down the hallway, he nearly bumps into a shiny-eyed Harry who manages a smile. “Hey, Lou,” Harry says, and it still amazes him sometimes that Harry can tell that it’s him by his footsteps, where it could have just as easily been Liam, Zayn, or Niall. 

“Harry,” Louis says, and surprisingly, his voice is light. 

“I was just coming to get you. I need a shower, and I don’t remember where we’ve put the shampoo.”

“Okay, let’s go then. I’ll help you out.”

Their hands touch, but don’t tangle, and Louis leads them into their room to hand Harry some shampoo and conditioner, turn on the water for him, and leave some clothes on the toilet seat. He watches Harry’s face, how he seems almost disappointed that Louis didn’t do anything; not kiss him or leave lingering touches like he used. He didn’t offer to shower with him. Louis knows this. He can see it on Harry’s face. He wonders how it got to this point. He wonders how he learned to read the sadness on Harry’s face. He wonders when the sadness showed up in the first place. 

He waits. Harry works around him in silence. 

“Louis,” Harry says once he’s safely showered (alone) and sprawled out on one of their beds. 

Louis looks up from the book he’s pretending to read, and even though Harry can’t see him doing it, it makes him feel more occupied, a faux-calming air that really does nothing to sooth whatever is making him so jumpy. 

“What’s up?” Louis asks, attempting to play it cool. Obviously, Harry had noticed. 

Harry just has this miserable expression on his face as he sits up. His lip wobbles a little bit as bites, “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” And oh, Louis has gone and fucked up. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Well–” Louis begins, and Harry lets out a frustrated noise.

“That question was rhetorical, and I want to know what this is – some kind of slow-burn break up? Or not even, because apparently we were never dating in the first place, which – okay. Okay,” he repeats. Louis didn’t know he’d heard. How did he hear? Louis pinches himself, even though he knows that this isn’t a dream – a warped nightmare. “I’m not stupid.”

“Harry–” Louis tries to start again, soft and worried. 

“Stop!” Harry exclaims, tears starting to pool in his eyes. He wipes them away, and Louis is having a lot of trouble looking at him. “Listen to me. If you don’t want this, it’s – whatever, okay. It’s whatever. But I don’t want you treating me like I’m weak and fragile, because I’m not and I guess you don’t fucking  _get_  that. Don’t string me along like a goddamn toy. I thought you knew me better than anyone else, and maybe I  _am_  stupid for falling in love with you. Or, hey, maybe I’m stupid for thinking you loved me back.” 

His voice cracks, and Louis’ heart breaks as Harry begins to cry for real, because this is not what he wanted. This isn’t what was supposed to happen, and he regrets not saying that he loved Harry back that night on the bean bags, he regrets not treating him right at his house, he regrets not answering his call, he regrets not doing whatever he could to be with him on New Year’s. He regrets so much, and he doesn’t even know how to say it, or what to do about it. 

Louis takes a deep breath, and he thinks about the bonfire. 

“Harry, please,” Louis says. 

“Please what?” Harry growls, a snarl in his voice, lips still shaking and eyes a bloody mess. 

“Do you remember the last night of the bungalow?” Harry says nothing. “I told you on that night that I’ll always want you to stay. It’s still true.”

Harry takes a deep breath like he can’t believe Louis remembers anything that once came out of his mouth, but instead chuckles in this self-deprecating way that makes Louis pinch his own arm. “Why, so you can break my heart again? Fuck with me? Because I get it, Louis. I forced myself onto you. I whined at you so I could have a petty little kiss and didn’t have any inhibitions. Should I regret it? Probably. Do I? Unfortunately, I can’t bring myself to.”

Louis only feels his heart pounding in his chest, and his eyes get a little wet. “Is that what you think?” he croaks. 

“What am I supposed to?” Harry bites his lip. “Please go ask Liam if you guys can switch. I can’t–”

“Yeah, I–” Louis starts, still looking down at Harry. Before he can get another word out, Harry’s turning on his back and rolling over, eyes closed and facing the wall. 

Louis has never hated the sound of a door closing, but that night, he despised it only because it truly felt like an end. 

***

Louis tortures himself for a whole two weeks. He respects Harry’s distance, but he bottles everything in. Zayn attempts to work his way into Louis’ cracks, but not once does he come close to letting him. The thing about Louis is that while he’s normally very open, he’s also good at closing down shop. He can shut off like a switch, and for those fourteen days, Louis doesn’t let anything get past him. 

He does a fair amount of crying in the shower, but when it comes to rooming with Zayn or Niall, he tries to put on his best fake smile and ignore the problem at hand even though everyone has acknowledged that there is one. Louis watches Harry, and he sees that the only time he smiles is on stage. He keeps his eyes closed a lot, and doesn’t let anyone lead him anywhere. He doesn’t let anyone touch him, and Louis squirms in bed at the thought of himself being the one who helped Harry loosen up. Louis has never resented his actions more.

He lasts just fourteen nights, fourteen restless sleeps and thought-flooded sunsets, until he can’t take it anymore. He can’t take the bags under his eyes or the constant red rim on his waterline. He can’t take sleeping alone, and he can’t take all of the things he left unsaid. 

There are moments where Louis tries. (Certainly not hard enough, but he tries.)

“Can I help you with your bags, Harry?” Louis asks one night after a show. 

“I’m perfectly capable, thank you very much, “Harry snaps. 

“Can we talk, please?” Louis asks the next day. 

“I’m not sure how it is for you, but I’ve not got much to say.” They both know that’s a lie. 

“You all right?” Louis whispers to him on stage one night. 

“Never better,” Harry grits, and Louis knows it’s all his fault, but he’s not so sure how to fix it. 

Finally, Louis cracks and goes to Zayn, because he likes to encourage Zayn’s belief that he is an all-knowing creature in the rare event that he might actually be. 

He sits in their room after a day of nothing, and Zayn is staring at him, as if he knows. 

“Am I stupid?” Louis asks. He regrets the words as soon as they’re out of his mouth. 

“Louis. What have I told you about asking questions that you already know the answer to.”

“ _Zayn,”_ Louis pouts, trying to be – oh, surprise surprise – serious. 

“ _Louis,_ ” Zayn mocks in the same tone. “You already know what I think, mate. When I said take your time, I didn’t mean distance yourself more. I watch, y’know, Lou. And you’ve gone and broken his heart. But he’s not going to stop loving you. To be quite honest, I don’t think he could stop if he tried. You’ve got to explain yourself to him, that’s really all I can say.”

Louis fell in love like a skydive; the initial anticipation, knowing it’s coming, the rush of the free fall, and know he’s waiting for the gentle float where he can appreciate every moment, every sight, and every sound. He ruined that for himself, for Harry. And now he needs it back. He needs it back so badly that there’s an ache in his chest and a sting in every nerve in his body. 

“Do you honestly reckon he’ll forgive me?” Louis asks. 

Zayn pauses for a moment, thinking. “Honestly, Lou. You’ve got to accept whatever consequences that come with this relationship, whatever you might consider them to be, and then you’ve got to tell him how you feel and what caused you to flip shit. If you play the right cards, you probably shouldn’t have to worry about being with out him, so long as you have reason. I think you can do it, Louis, but you just need to be honest. Lay it out bare.”

Stripping raw, Louis notes. He can do that. (He hopes.)

He thanks Zayn with a hug. 

Fourteen days after Harry looked at him with a broken heart and sad eyes, Louis requests a room with Harry, and when they get there, Harry just about looses it. 

“I can’t do this. I don’t want to room with you,” Harry shouts. “Can you get that? I’ll bloody take the room alone if that’s what it takes. I’ll bump into a thousand fucking walls but I can’t do this.”

“Harry,” Louis murmurs softly. 

“Stop saying my name like that!” Harry growls. 

“Like how?” Louis asks.

“Like– like you pity me, or something.”  _Or something,_ Louis thinks. 

“I don’t pity you. You know that.”

“Do I?” Harry asks skeptically. 

“Yes!” Louis exclaims. “You do know. You said so many things the other night that aren’t true. You know me, Harry. I never– I never lied to you. Please tell me you know they aren’t true.”

“I can’t say that,” Harry murmurs. “How do I know?”

“You love me,” Louis whispers. “You said you love me, and I love–”

Harry cuts him off. “Don’t say it.”

_Lay it out bare,_  Louis thinks. 

Louis shakes his head, but doesn’t let those words slip from his mouth yet, no matter how desperately he wants Harry to hear them. He wishes Harry could somehow see whatever honesty is left in his eyes. “Did you know that when someone is telling the truth, their heartbeat is steady? And when they lie, it races.”

“What’s that got to do with anything, Louis?” Harry normally loves when Louis says random things, but Louis reckons that this isn’t normal, and what he’s saying isn’t random at all.

Louis stands and takes Harry’s hand. He places two of Harry’s fingers on the inside of his own wrist. “Feel my pulse.” Louis takes a shuddery breath. Harry fingers wander along the smooth skin until Louis can hear the thumping of his own steady heart in his ears, and he’s sure Harry can feel it, too. “I love you,” Louis murmurs. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and that’s what scared me, okay? Please let me talk to you.”

Harry wrenches his fingers away, but mumbles, “Fine.”

They find their way onto the same queen bed, Harry refusing Louis’ aid and using his cane to wander over. Their sides brush once they’re seated, and when their fingers are so close that Louis is having trouble leaving them detangled, Harry places his hand in his lap and Louis has to close and unclose his fist to chase away the feeling of loss.

“I’m not going to give you some kind of speech like in the movies where I’m supposed to say I’ll move on if you don’t love me anymore, or that I’ll respect your decision if you don’t take me back, because honestly, if for some reason you suddenly despise me or never kiss me again, I’ll probably just lie in bed and cry for several days and bury myself in ice cream like the girl I am.” (Louis swears he sees Harry holding back a smile.) 

He’s unsure of really where to begin, because Harry seems vacant, eyes closed and one hand fisted in the sheets. His face isn’t relaxed, though. He’s drawn up and taut, and Louis continues to feel guilt bloom in his chest. He lets his palm lay open on the duvet in the small space between their legs, and Harry takes a deep breath. 

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry for not loving you like I should’ve, because you were always so good to me, and I am an absolute arse. I’ve never been in love before this, Harry, and when I recognized it, it scared the bloody shit out of me. I decided to ignore that word in the beginning, because I didn’t think it would go away, but I thought, like, maybe if I didn’t acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real? Because when I was younger, I didn’t really take being gay that well, and I’d never had a real relationship before. 

“You were everything, though. And if anyone is stupid, it’s me. I was a fucking scared idiot – scared of a relationship and scared of a title and scared of jeopardizing our band – so I thought, hey, if it’s not official, I’m not hurting anyone, right? Obviously I’m not too bright because I was hurting myself, and more importantly, I was hurting you. I don’t even know what this fucking speech is, but the moral of it all is that I’m sorry, that I love you, and tomorrow, if you want, I can teach you how to do yoga and you can attempt to teach me Braille, and right now you can slap me in the face because I deserve it.”

This is another time where Louis is not eloquent, because he’s just let out about five hundred things in the span of maybe two minutes, and Harry’s got his thinking face on, so it’s quite possible he made close to zero sense. He crosses his legs Indian style, and Louis stares at him. 

“I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to say,” Harry murmurs, and he doesn’t really sound angry, just genuinely perplexed. “I reckon I can’t exactly have you crying, though.”

A little bit of hope curls in Louis’ stomach. 

“Can I ask you a few things, though?”

“Always,” Louis answers, sighing out some tension. 

“You trust me, right?”

“Absolutely.” Louis doesn’t waver, couldn’t if he tried. 

“And you still– you don’t, like, make anything less of me because of my eyes? I mean, I never thought, but–”

“Harry,  _never_. You being blind really had nothing to do with it. It’s a part of you, and this whole mess was all on me. All me being dumb. I was a coward, and I regret it.”

Harry takes a shuddery breath. “I’m mad at you, though. You broke my heart.” There’s a pause. “I thought you didn’t love me. At first I wasn’t sure how you could fake something like that. Every night I would lay in my bed and think about everything we’ve said and everything we’ve done together, and I would say that there was no way. In the beginning I had more hope, but last night I was crying just because I ruled myself out.”

Louis curls his fist in the duvet because he’s not sure if he’s allowed to touch. “I hate myself for it, Harry. I really, really do. I can’t believe I put you through any of that, because you didn’t deserve it. I was just confused, y’know? I’ve never been so committed in my life. I was never committed to anything, before this. I’d had a family who never committed to me, school work that I didn’t care enough about to even think about making a commitment, and friends who I knew always had someone else. Then came you, and the boys, and a fucking band, and suddenly I was committed to a bunch of things at once. It was all just – very overwhelming.

“I want you to know though, everything we shared up until that night in your house, it was all completely genuine. I wanted to tell you I loved you that night in the bean bags, and I’ve thought it every day since. I still want everything with you, and I still want you by my side no matter what we do.”

Harry nods and threads their fingers with cautious touch. “Can we just sit, for a little? I think– I need to just take it all in. I need to think.”

“Whatever you need.”

Louis isn’t so sure how long it is. They sit in a heavy silence filled with ragged breaths. The only place they touch is their palms, but Louis feels more connected than he has in weeks, and he wants to be close to Harry in every way possible. He gives his hand a squeeze through the silence, and he gets one back. There’s a silent cheer in his head, but heavy regret still sits within him. He wonders if it’ll go, because it’d be rather nice for it to fuck off. He just wants his boy, and he wants to do everything within his ability to redeem himself for what a major tit he was. Necessary procedures. 

Harry asks a question, minutes later. “Why wouldn’t you kiss me?”

“It made me feel close to you. It made me love you more. And I wanted that so much that I made it so I didn’t. Or tried to, at the very least.” 

Harry looks more at ease, less drawn up, but still has a furrow between his brow. “Say it again, please?” Louis doesn’t have to ask what he’s talking about. He feels the pads of Harry’s finger shift to his inner wrist. 

“I love you. I’m in love with you. I’ll never let go, Jack,” Louis says, and his heartbeat is steady all the while, letting that joke slip just to test the waters, to make sure that not everything has changed. 

Harry laughs but mutters, “Liar. You fucking let go, Rose.” He’s teasing. 

“Not in this life,” Louis promises. 

Harry cocks his head. “And I’m still your very best friend who you will love and cherish forever and shower in homemade cookies?” He’s laughing louder now, grin spreading across his face. Louis loves Harry a whole lot. Loves him for being forgiving, for understanding, for letting his fingers skirt across Louis’ pulse and hearing him out. 

“If you want burnt cookies, sure,” Louis chuckles. 

Harry guffaws loudly, and he reaches out with a cautious hand to touch Louis’ cheek. His eyes open to show a shiny green, and his fingers ram into the side of Louis’ nose. He laughs again, quieter now, breathier, and whispers, “And I can kiss you?”

“Whenever you want,” Louis answers, and when Harry does, Louis aches with how much he’s missed it. It’s light, and Harry keeps his distance (relatively speaking). They’re gentle and simple, and it can’t last for more than thirty seconds, but when Harry pulls back, Louis is grinning full on, and Harry looks relieved. 

“I didn’t like being away from you,” Harry admits. 

Louis laughs, because, “I was about to say the same thing.”

“Are we too clingy?” Harry asks. 

Louis shrugs and says, “Probably, but I don’t really care.”

“A lovely attitude, as always,” Harry murmurs, and Louis smiles into his shoulder. Harry’s hand is still on his face, and it smooths across his cheek. “Can we sleep? I need to sleep and think about burnt cookies and forgiving you.”

“We can sleep,” Louis says slowly. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. I just need a little bit of time, okay?”

“As long as you need,” Louis promises, and they shift down the bed so they’re laying, and Harry has never felt so good in Louis’ arms. 

***

Louis wakes up to a still sleeping Harry, and it feels like he’s just been hit with a bucket of cold water because Harry is actually in his arms and significantly less mad at him. He presses his lips to the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder and breathes him in for all that he is, tightens his hands around his waist because he needs to feel, to make sure he’s still there. 

It doesn’t take long for Harry to stir, with Louis’ lips gently tickling his neck, and when his eyes blink open, he rolls in Louis’ grip. “Morning,” he says, all rough and sleepy. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Louis whispers, because that’s what he sees. There’s a soft smile playing on Harry’s lips, but his expression is warm and bright. A gentle light that pours over him, illuminating the whole room against the white of the bed and the beige of the walls. A beam that everything leans toward. 

He kisses Harry’s cheek as it warms up. “Can I kiss you?”

“Morning breath,” Harry warns mildly.

“Don’t care,” Louis breathes, because he honestly can’t bring himself to. Not now, not with Harry in front of him, all sleep-warm and pliant. 

“Then yes, if you want.”

Louis wants it so badly; he wants so much with him, even a kiss with mouths that taste like sleep. He folds their lips together slowly, still being cautious and more withdrawn than he would’ve been in the past. The keeps a hand on Harry’s cheek, ubiquitous and telling – that he’s there, that he always will be – and they kiss gradually, steadily, almost hesitantly. Louis pulls back after a few moments, knowing that he wouldn’t have the strength to if it had lasted any longer. He strokes over Harry’s cheek and asks, “Did you have a good sleep?”

Harry squirms a little in his arms, almost like he’s embarrassed to speak, like whatever he might have to say is breakable, and once it reaches Louis’ ears, it’ll shatter. “Best in weeks,” he confesses, a whispered secret warming Louis’ skin. 

“Me too,” Louis tells him, just as quiet, just as fragile. He presses his lips to Harry’s jaw. 

“Can we just lay here for a while? So I can think?”

“Whatever you need, H,” Louis murmurs. He takes a deep breath, and there’s a burn in his side that he has to press his palm to. He wants to kiss Harry again. Hold him tight. Love him slow. “Whatever you need.” 

The air around them is like the moment that just passed; it’s warm and gentle and relearning, but it’s also uneasy and fragile. To Louis, it feels unreal – like it’s going to break at any given second. But he tries not to focus on any of that. He focuses on Harry’s head in the crook of his neck, at Harry’s palm in his as he traces in and out of the knuckles with his fingertip, at Harry’s soft breathing that’s warm and comfortable – present. 

“I love you a lot, y’know,” Harry says after a while. Louis’ heart is light, a helium balloon. It feels like he might float away. He takes a deep, steadying breath so he doesn’t do anything stupid like squeal or giggle or shout his happiness. (Because he most certainly would.) Harry beats him to it, though, when it comes to talking. “My feelings are the same, and I trust you, okay? I believe everything that you said. At this point, I’m just mad, really, because you made me doubt everything we had and you made me cry quite a bit, but.” Harry takes a deep breath. “I love you loads, and I might take you up on that offer to hit you later. Gently, of course. Actually, if we try to do yoga it will probably wind up happening either way. I’m not very coordinated.”

Louis laughs softly, but he can’t do much more as Harry’s words sink in. “I wish I was good with metaphors because I would make up a really extravagant one about how much I love you.” 

_I love you like sun loves the moon; giving him half of her light each day so the earth can see how beautiful he is._

_I love you like the fish love the sea; knowing that it’s too big for them to swim, but trusting that they’ll find their way home._

_I love you in glances, not in words. I can’t stop looking at you._

_If love was measured in pressure, I’d love you till I burst._

“You’re a special one, Lou,” Harry says, and Louis hopes he’s special enough to keep. 

“So,” Louis starts slowly, changing the topic. “What do you say to getting dressed, ordering a bit of room service, and then cracking open a Braille book to read while we do yoga?”

Harry snuffles a laugh into Louis shoulder, murmurs, “I’m not so sure if we’ll even be able to do those things separately, so lets take things one step at a time. But, I say that that sounds lovely.”

Louis grins in an uncontrollable way and presses his lips to Harry’s cheek, taking his hand and helping him up, still feeling light like helium, but with the rock that was always meant to keep him grounded. 

***

In the bathroom, Louis stays pressed close to Harry as they brush their teeth, keeping a hand on the small of his back just as a reminder that he’s there. It sends warmth blooming throughout Louis’ body, and he fists his hand gently in the soft henley he changed into. When he spits into the sink, there’s a bit of toothpaste on the corner of his mouth, and Louis leans in with a gentle thumb to wipe it off. 

His eyes are warm and wide, but his stance is angled toward Louis, leaning into him as he licks his lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Louis asks. 

“Stop asking,” Harry murmurs adamantly. “You don’t need to ask. I just want to get back to normal.”

“We will. Actually, better than normal. Normal times two.” Louis is making no sense. He curls a hand around the back of Harry’s neck, pretending not to notice how his head is just a hair above his own now. 

“So weird?” Harry asks. Louis has always been rubbish at maths. He couldn’t tell you. 

Louis just laughs and mutters, “Now kiss me you fool,” echoing Harry’s very words from just a few months ago. 

Harry giggles and leans forward, stupid smile making it hard to kiss, until he goes lax, letting his hands fold onto Louis’ hips and keeping their mouths together, all warm and giddy. It feels a lot like falling in love all over again, and Louis reckons it might be. His chest is about to burst with the happiness, and all of the quixotic feelings that were burdening him even just a few hours ago are banished. He knows that everything between them is present; he can feel the trust in every touch, and he knows that this isn’t going anywhere. 

“I love you,” Louis murmurs when he pulls back, just because he can. Because he feels it. He’s always been the type who speaks his mind. 

“Are you gonna the guy who tells me you love me every five minutes?” Harry asks dubiously. 

“Potentially,” Louis intones, smirk playing at his lips. “I really see no room to complain about that, to be quite honest.”

“We’re gonna be so obnoxious,” Harry wails, but he sounds positively delighted about it, and see, this is why Louis loves Harry. 

***

It’s more than an hour later when there are empty dishes outside of their door, and Louis’ laptop is open on the bed. He’s on his knees trying to read it from their positions on the floor, and this is probably one of their worst ideas, but. 

“Okay,” Louis starts. “I think we should do the basics, then?”

“Basics would be good,” Harry agrees. “I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.”

Currently, he’s sprawled out on his back on the hotel’s off-white carpet.

“First one is called Child’s Pose. According to this website it’s the ‘when in doubt’ pose of yoga.”

“What am I meant to do?” Harry asks. 

“I’m gonna do it with you, yeah?” Harry nods. “Get on your knees.” Harry snorts and raises his eyebrows, but does as he was told, getting on his knees and waiting for further instructions. “Now you kind of, just like, fall forward I guess? So you’re more sitting back on your thighs, but your hands are out in front of you and your face is to the side.”

Harry does so, albeit sloppily, and Louis runs gentle hands down his arms to get them fully straight and eases his fingers down his back to get him flatter. 

“Perfect,” Louis whispers to him. “How’s it feel?”

“A bit constricting on the lungs, but other than that, rather liberating,” Harry grumbles. 

“Maybe we should do it naked it, then,” Louis suggests jokingly. 

Harry lights up. “Can we?”

So, they do naked yoga.

Louis struggles through explaining the next pose, the Downward Facing Dog, which is surprisingly easy. It really just involves Harry being on his hands and feet, with his back like a mountain. Louis keeps running his hands up and down Harry’s smooth back, the knobs of his spine. He feels him shiver more than once. 

“Are you doing this one too now?” Harry asks, arms beginning to shake from holding himself up for so long.

“Would you like me to?”

“Please,” Harry asks. “And close your eyes.”

Louis does as he’s told, going into the pose and letting his eyelids flutter shut, hearing Harry come out of his own and shuffle toward him. Big palms are on his back palms later, and Harry’s trailing his mouth up to Louis’ ear, seeking it out. “You’re beautiful, y’know? I don’t tell you enough.”  _I was awful to you,_ Louis thinks somewhere in the back of his mind, but he pushes everything away, focusing on the present rather than the past. 

“I could say the same,” Louis breathes. 

Harry’s hands are still wandering his back, and they come to his bum, fingers gentle and fleeting, until he’s getting smacked rather hard on his right hip and he’s toppling over. 

“You said I could hit you!” Harry’s guffawing seconds later, knowing Louis is on the ground and looking up. “Oh god, that was funny.”

“You chose now? I was yoga-ing!”Louis growls. 

“I enjoy the element of surprise.”

“Arse,” Louis mutters. “You, sir, are an arse.”

“Mmhh,” Harry hums. “I’m okay with that.”

Louis just rolls his eyes fondly and sits up, touching Harrys’ neck before kissing him. 

“You’re such a goof,” Louis says, and he reckons there are hearts in his own eyes. 

“Teach me more yoga,” Harry demands. 

Louis struggles through various other poses, including the Tree (which one would think to be easy, but alas, Harry has poor balance, and Louis gets far too handsy when holding onto Harrys’ waist), the Warrior (which Louis can’t explain quite right. It involves feet at odd angles and arms out, so they both wind up karate chopping each other’s arms and giving up), and the Bridge (which is, in fact, the most horrendous of them all, aside from Harry’s smooth thighs bending all nice on the floor). 

They give up just slightly sweaty, crawling onto the bed that’s still made and picking up one of Harry’s heavy Braille books to attempt to read. 

“I can’t believe you’ve got the first Harry Potter in fucking Braille, mate. That’s just sick.”

Harry’s cheeks are flushed with rose, and he flips open to the first page. “Here’s a key, yeah?”

Louis looks down. It’s a bunch of dots. He can’t do this at all.

“Maybe you should just read to me.” Louis pauses. “Actually, yeah. You should read to me.”

“Hey, hey, no. You’re at least gonna try,” Harry insists. 

Louis sighs, but figures he’s got nothing to lose. “Okay, but maybe I should start easy. Just tell me the letters, yeah?”

Harry smiles at him and reaches for his hand. He fumbles around for Louis’ index finger and flips back to the front. He runs the pad of his finger over some of the bumps on the cover. “That says Harry,” Harry tells him. He’s grinning so big. Louis loves him. 

“That’s magic,” Louis breathes. “I can’t believe you can bloody read that.”

Harry smiles harder, blushes warmer, and turns back to the key. “Okay, I’m going to run your finger over every letter, okay?”

Louis echoes, “Okay,” and lets the butterflies invade his stomach as his finger is dragged over various series of bumps alongside Harry’s and a husky voice whispers in his ear, “A, b, c, d...”

“And then one dot in the bottom left corner means a capital letter, two of those in a row means the whole word is capital, and there’s symbols for numbers and letters, too.”

Harry keeps churning things out, and Louis is just gaping. His mouth is slightly open, his eyes are wide, and he’s overwhelmed with fondness for this boy. “You are so bloody amazing, Harry. You are actually the most phenomenal thing I have ever met. You’re – you can’t fucking see and yet you can do everything I can and more. God, you’re such a shining star, you know that, right?”

Harry just grabs his wrist and roughly cups his jaw, kissing him harshly as an answer, licking into his mouth and pressing his fingertips into Louis’ wrist where his pulse is beating fast. It steadies as he pulls back, and says, “I love you I love you I love you,” like a chant. It’s a mantra he never wants to stop, a song that he never wants to end, a poem that speaks to every nerve in his body. 

Harry just squeezes his wrist again. “I love you in all the colors that you told me about. All of those beautiful things you said, I remember. And you’re just as gorgeous.”

Louis doesn’t know how to process anything. He shifts his wrist in Harry’s left hand and tangles their fingers. “Read to me, lovely.”

So Harry starts to drag his fingers over the raised dots on the page, and Louis is already speechless again. As soon as he makes it through the first few paragraphs, Louis has to make him stop again, literally awestruck. “Harry, you read faster than I do.”

Harry ducks his head. “I’ve been doing it for quite a while, so.”

“When did you learn?”

“Well,” Harry starts, stopping to think. “I think I started a bit after most people would learn to read. When I was like six or seven? And I just had lots of time to practice, y’know, with doing a lot of nothing in my free time. So I would read. I was rather determined, as a child.”

Louis laughs at his goofy smile and trails his lips along his jaw to get him ready for a kiss. It’s gentle and sweet, and as much as Louis wants to hear him read longer, he wants to kiss him more.

“Haz, baby. Can we read some more later?” Louis murmurs against Harry’s lips. “Wanna kiss you. Love you.”

Harry nods, so Louis takes the book off his lap and places it on the bedside table with a thud. Louis settles more comfortably, on Harry rather than next to him, and threads his fingers into Harry’s hair, feeling his body underneath him in the way that he had grown so used to but had seemed to forget in a few weeks apart. He grips Harry’s curls and scratches at his scalp, letting his fingers run along the back of his neck like a gust of wind, sprinkling stardust on his skin. 

Harry whines into his mouth, falling apart fast and lips turning a bright pink after Louis bites on them. He’s hard against Louis’ thigh, rutting up and sucking on the side of Louis’ neck. 

“Can we– um.”

Louis looks down at him, his wide eyes and pink cheeks. “Can we what, darling?”

“Can you– I want–” Harry’s really tripping over his words, and Louis just smooths a soft hand down his rosy cheeks, smooth. Louis kisses him once, and Harry takes a deep breath. “Can you fuck me?” he asks, and it’s the most filthy question coming from petal lips, tone breathy but voice genuine, wanting. 

Louis’ heart gets caught in his throat, and he has to stop and stare for a moment before he can say anything in response. Harry’s spread out beneath him, freshly cut hair fanning out on the white pillow, curly and soft, bright lips open in a pant, fingers moving slowly up and down Louis’ chest. 

Louis leans down and rests his forehead against Harry’s. His breath ghosts over his face when he murmurs, “You sure? After everything.”

“Please, Lou,” Harry chokes out. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Missed you so much. I want to be close to you.”

“You’ll always be close to me, Harry.” Louis kisses down Harry’s chest, stopping over his heart. “Right here,” he mumbles. Harry giggles softly, gripping Louis’ hips harder and going to cup his jaw. They kiss for longer, lips molding in a soft kind of love, blending into something more – a soft kind of color; pink, maybe, or hazy orange like the warmth that a sunrise brings. “Do you have anything? Because I didn’t– I don’t–”

“Hey,” Harry says. “I do, um. My sister helped me out. They’re in my bag in the bathroom, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis exhales. 

He rummages in the bathroom for a moment or two, leaving Harry’s warm body and missing it. He finds a bottle of lube and several condoms eventually, grabbing one and bringing them back to the bed where Harry’s still laying, eyes closed and fist gently stroking his cock, obviously having been unable to help himself. His breathing has gone heavier, chest heaving, the softest of noises spilling from his lips. Louis stops at the foot of the bed just to watch him – the most stunning thing in the room, the prized jewel: beautiful and desired. 

It takes him a few seconds more to actually make it on the bed, curling up next to Harry rather than on him, running a hand down his smooth chest and batting his hand away from his cock to replace it with his own. With his other hand, he gently taps between his thighs, getting them to spread a bit more and running his fingers behind his balls, over his hole to see his reaction. A shiver tears through him, legs getting covered in goosepimples and brow furrowing. 

“Can’t believe you’ve done this to yourself, Harry. It’s so hot that you get yourself off like that,” Louis murmurs in his ear, still jerking him off slowly, taking the lube from the side of the bed and pouring some over his fingers. 

“S’not as good as it’s gonna be with you. It’s never enough alone. Can never get it right,” Harry manages to get out. “I don’t have to worry with you.”

“I’ll take care of you, love. You ready?”

“Slow,” Harry whispers. 

Louis opens him up slowly, kissing him softly and watching his beautiful eyes open wide and squeeze shut. His free hand stays on Harry’s cock or wandering his torso, flicking over a nipple or just rubbing his chest, warm and comforting. Harry’s letting out soft little noises, and he seems to love it, loves being opened up like this in a way he’s never done for anyone else. Louis waits for him to say though, for him to say that he’s ready, and when the time comes, Louis sees everything in him, and it feels like a hell of a lot more than love. It burns in his chest, but in it’s wake is a blooming warmth that makes his toes curl and hands grip Harry’s biceps just so he has something to hold onto. 

“Please, Lou,” Harry says. 

Louis kisses him and settles between his thighs, rolling on the condom and slicking himself up, going slowly as he pushes in, pressing his lips to the line on Harry’s forehead until he’s completely relaxed and says, “move,” softly. 

It’s everything, then. It’s every single moment that they’ve shared, it’s the love they lost and found, it’s the stars in Harry’s eyes and everything he can’t see but doesn’t have to. Louis rocks his hips gently, and Harry’s head falls even further back, pale column of his throat becoming even more exposed as his mouth falls open. Louis kisses up it, their bodies moving together, and Harry’s fingers scratching aimlessly at his back. 

“I always wonder,” Louis starts breathily in Harry’s ear, still moving slowly, rhythmically, “how it feels for you. How much more it is. How sensitized you are. I know it’s just  _extreme,_ and look at you– you’re. You’re so beautiful.”

Harry just whimpers out Louis’ name and rocks back against him, breath coming out faster and faster, hips picking up a faster pace seemingly at their own accord, hands tight on Louis’ waist and legs locking around his back. Louis has to kiss him again, he’s so breathtaking, and their mouths are open. For Louis, it’s hard to breathe, he’s so overwhelmed. 

“Fast now, please,” Harry lets out, and Louis can see it on his face, that he wants it, that he can take it. Their bodies stay tangled together, but Louis fucks him faster, the headboard knocking gently against the wall as they breathe together, connected in every way possible. Louis gently reaches down to touch where they’re connected, and, “Please,” Harry says again. “Need it.”

His cock rubs up against Harry’s stomach, and Louis holds him so close, twining like ivy around a branch. And when Harry starts to shake, Louis licks hotly into his mouth and feels him come, following just a few seconds later, lips open against the side of Harry’s neck and closing his eyes, free falling with no parachute but having the best rush of his life. 

After he catches his breath, his eyes open to a flushed Harry with pink cheeks and a sated, warm smile on his lips. Louis pulls out gently, trying to keep the grin on his face. He pulls off the condom, chucks it in the direction of the garbage after tying it off, and settles into Harry’s side, face in his neck where there’s at least two bruises. 

“Get me a flannel,” Harry grumbles. 

Louis rolls his eyes in habit, but being the wonderful person he is, stands up and gets him one, wet towel rubbing off the mess on Harry’s stomach. He squirms a little at the coolness, and Louis smiles down at him, so overwhelmed with fondness that he can’t even control his damn face. He presses a kiss to Harry’s nose, and then bends further to kiss him once on the lips. 

“Come back here,” Harry mumbles. “I want your warmth.”

Louis snorts, but artfully drapes himself on top of Harry’s body so he whines.

“Cuddle me like a normal person, you weirdo.”

Louis laughs and shifts into Harry’s side again, his hand splaying across Harry’s damp, cool stomach. He presses his lips to Harry’s shoulder and leaves them there. 

“Lou?” Harry says quietly. 

“What’s up, ya bugger?” Louis asks back. 

“Serious,” Harry murmurs, a little more hushed, a little more intimate. 

“Serious,” Louis echos. 

He shifts so he’s facing Louis, sea glass eyes open, looking at Louis just for the sake of eye contact. Their noses are almost brushing, and Louis’ heartbeat is steady in his chest. He touches Harry’s hand just to feel his skin. Kisses his lips just to feel his presence. Listens to his breathing just to know he’s there. Remembers how his omnipresence used to feel like a dark omen but now feels like a burst of light, knowing that they’ll never be apart. That they’re attached.  

And Harry says, “So you know, I’ll always want you to stay, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like always your comments and kudos mean so freaking much to me! I hope everyone who's back in school is doing all right so far, and I hope my little piece of writing somehow brightened your day! I always appreciate any sort of feedback. :*


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